


A Song of Blood and Sunlight

by Shadow_Side



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Backstory, D/s, Desert Bluffs, F/F, F/M, Family Politics, M/M, Strexcorp, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-04-02 09:46:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 103,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4055455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow_Side/pseuds/Shadow_Side
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Long before the sandstorm, before the incursion, before the war… there was a young man, in a radio studio, in a town, and there was a chance encounter that changed everything.</p><p>Or: in which Kevin first meets the CEO of Strexcorp. And then it all gets a bit <i>Game of Thrones</i>…</p><p>…OK, OK. A bit <i>Game of Thrones</i> and a lot <i>Downton Abbey</i>. With demons.</p><p>[A stand-alone prequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/series/146883">Chiralityverse</a>.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rawaketa

**Author's Note:**

> Well, hello, dear reader. Let me tell you a little tale.
> 
> As I was working on _Songs of the Enantiomers_ , I ended up hinting at a lot of backstory for my Kevin, and for Strexcorp and Desert Bluffs, and I realised there was another story lurking behind everything. _Then_ my Kevin muse decided to go on about it at length until I caved and agreed to write said backstory, because he knows full-well that I can't say no to him (despite trying on a regular basis).
> 
>  _So_ , this is a prequel to Chiralityverse, focusing entirely on Kevin and Desert Bluffs. It does contain a number of fairly major backstory/plot spoilers for both _On The Nature of Love and Chirality_ and _Songs of the Enantiomers_ , so my recommendation would be to read those two first if you haven't already and are planning to. That being said, this fic is designed to be read on its own (no prior plot or story knowledge is required) and, given our ongoing obsession with linear chronology, this _does_ technically come first, even though it didn't.
> 
> …You know what I mean.
> 
> Warnings for: blood. Lots of blood. This is Desert Bluffs under Strexcorp, what else did you expect? Also angst, trauma, family politics and a fair amount of violence… as well as a super-screwed-up relationship that I wonder how many of you saw coming…
> 
> Many thanks to my beloved Davechicken for the beta, the gorgeous banner-art, and the encouragement once I finally admitted what I was writing... (Also for her continued efforts as my dinosaur-wrangler. Never be without a trusted dinosaur-wrangler. Dinosaurs can open doors, you know!)
> 
> Lastly, all the chapter titles for this one are in Linear-B. If you don't yet know why that's relevant, you will soon!
> 
>   
>    
> 

**Rawaketa**

_Leader of the people_

***

_"…which is apparently called the 'Millennium Bug', and which is expected to attack at the stroke of midnight on January 1st in the year 2000. So we only have a few more years to work out how to fend off this devastating assault, and I for one am highly in favour of the new think-tank put together by Strexcorp to work towards finding a strategic solution to the impending threat we all face."_

_"But of course, listeners, it'll be a little while before any of that becomes a problem. In the meantime, we have today: bright and beautiful and full of infinite productivity. And whatever we face in the future, I'm confident that the people of Desert Bluffs can pull through. There's nothing our wonderful community can't do if we put our minds to it, after all!"_

_"Stay tuned next for Amber Baxley's popular series, 'How to be your best, do your best, and avoid bringing shame to your town and your employers'. I must say, I love that one, listeners! And, as always, until next time, Desert Bluffs. Until next time…"_

The young man at the microphone pulls off his headset as the show ends, sitting back and smiling to himself. He's been presenting Desert Bluffs' flagship radio show for almost six months now, and – by the Smiling God – he really loves it.

Kevin – the young man in question – is still surprised by the direction his life has been moving in of late. After graduating in Ancient Linguistics and Parapsychology at college, he'd expected to move into further study. Maybe even teaching. It was the most fun he'd had… well, ever, really… and he was sure he'd be continuing in it.

But then everything had changed, and – OK, yes – the whole incident with the black van and the masked figures had been a little challenging, and painful, and completely out of the blue, but… everything was fine in the end. After all, he's here now, presenting the most listened-to show on the air in Desert Bluffs, and having just a _doozy_ of a time with the whole thing.

With his show over for the day, Kevin closes up the studio and heads out into the corridors of the radio station, thinking to himself. He has a few errands he should run, and then maybe he'll give Bob and Laura a call and see if they want to meet up for a few games of bowling or even just a cup of coffee at the local diner.

Just as Kevin makes it to the station's entrance lobby, which glitters deep red in the glow of the mid-afternoon sun pouring in through the windows, he runs into his producer, Daniel. Kevin has never quite known what to make of Daniel. The man has been at the station for several years already, and was on very good terms with the previous presenter of what is now Kevin's show, Leland Brown.

And it's _hardly_ Kevin's fault that Leland was given a severance package following that _unfortunate_ incident at the last company picnic now, is it? But sometimes Kevin is sure Daniel blames him for it.

"Ah, Kevin, there you are," Daniel begins, a little tersely. He has a clipboard in one hand with what looks like some kind of itinerary on it, covered in alterations and scrawlings in… charcoal? It's charcoal, right?

"Here I am!" Kevin replies, brightly.

Daniel looks him up and down. "Oh, you'll do," he says, without explanation. "OK, long story short, we're expecting visitors within the next hour."

"Visitors?" Kevin repeats. "Who?"

Rather than answering immediately, Daniel looks around, as if concerned about other people listening in. And that's just _silly_ , because _everyone_ here is a loyal employee and would _never_ do anything to jeopardise whatever's apparently going on.

"Strexcorp higher-ups," Daniel answers, eventually. "Well, more than that." He sighs. He has a very _mechanical_ way of sighing, as if he's copying something he's seen other people doing, and Kevin often wonders why. "…Look. Frankly, I'd give this to Cassie, but she's gone home sick. Nasty case of panache. I hope we don't all go down with it. In the meantime, that leaves me with you."

"I'll do whatever I can to help," Kevin tells him, brightly. "You know that!"

Daniel looks far less pleased than he should, and Kevin makes a mental note to try extra-hard to impress the man in future. "I'll be blunt," Daniel says. "It isn't just some higher-ups. It's Derek Hartley himself."

Kevin stares. _Derek Hartley?_ Head of the Strexcorp Management Board? He's coming _here?_ Kevin has grown up with stories of Strexcorp's magnificent CEO; of how he and the four other board members founded Strexcorp back in the Fifties and quickly developed it into the corporate powerhouse it is today. And though Kevin has seen Mr Hartley speak a number of times on television – and twice at big public events – he's never met the man face-to-face.

Of course he hasn't. He's a new radio presenter, barely out of college. He doesn't even work for Strexcorp's executive arm.

And now Mr Hartley is coming _here?_

"…You're a fan, I take it?" Daniel asks, when Kevin doesn't reply immediately; too lost in his own thoughts.

"…Only as much as anyone else," Kevin insists, quickly, though he knows Daniel will probably see through him. But that's OK.

"Well, fine, then you'll do," Daniel goes on, with an idle handwave. "Mr Hartley and his enforcer detail are coming here in the next hour. He's due for a meeting with Station Management, but he wants to tour the studios as well. Meet the front-line staff. Engagement thing. You know."

Daniel does not sound as excited by this as he should. Kevin decides he'll just have to be excited for both of them.

"What can I do to help?" he asks.

"You can be the one to show him round," Daniel replies. "Just make sure he sees the re-fitted studios and don't let him in the intern break room. Oh, and try not to be weird."

"Weird?" Kevin repeats, beaming with excitement. "I'm not weird at all."

Daniel sighs again. "I have to go make sure we've put out the _un_ poisoned coffee," he says, without commenting on the rest. "Don't go anywhere."

And, with another little handwave, Daniel hurries off. Kevin watches him go, standing in the entrance lobby with a broad smile on his face. This is certainly not what he expected when he woke up this morning! And, by the Smiling God, now he's nervous. And excited.

This might just be the best day ever.

***

By the time the visitors arrive, Kevin is nearly bouncing with anticipation. He calms himself – outwardly, at least – as the front doors open, wanting to look as professional as possible, standing with a number of his colleagues and waiting to greet their guests.

First in through the doors is a pair of Strexcorp enforcers – the company's security team – dressed in the standard black suit and orange tie combination traditional for their role. Both are very imposing, one male and one female, each with a silver knife holstered at their back. Two others – again, one male and one female – bring up the rear of the group.

And in the centre is the man himself: Derek Hartley, founder and CEO of Strexcorp Synernists Inc. He's tall and sharply-dressed, with pale skin and close-cropped black hair. There's a knife at his back, too – they're commonplace in Desert Bluffs – but he looks as if he rarely needs it. Just one glance from those piercing blue eyes, and he surely gets whatever he wants.

Kevin gives a little shiver, though tries not to pay it too much thought.

"Welcome to Radio Desert Bluffs," Daniel says, as the enforcers part to allow he and Mr Hartley to shake hands. The Strexcorp CEO smiles as he does so; a bright, warm expression that shines like the sun.

"And let me tell you, I am just _delighted_ to be here," Hartley replies. "It's been _far_ too long since I made an engagement visit to this wonderful station of yours."

"We're very glad to have you," Daniel goes on, ever the perfect sycophant. "I hope you'll be pleased by all the work we've been doing. On behalf of Station Management, I've arranged a tour for you, accompanied by the new host of _Welcome to Desert Bluffs_."

He turns and gives a quick wave and – taking the hint – Kevin hurries forward. Daniel gestures between them. "Mr Hartley, this is Kevin."

"Ah," Hartley remarks, as he and Kevin shake hands. "Yes, I was hoping to meet you. I must say, I listen to your show whenever I can. You're a breath of fresh air in this place. Young blood. Exactly what we need."

Kevin wills himself not to go pink, and studiously avoids looking in Daniel's direction. "Thank you, sir," he replies. "I do my best."

"I believe you," says Hartley, with a little smile. "Now, lead on. I'm looking forward to seeing the studios again. I remember what they were like when I first came here, back in the Fifties, and I'm always impressed by how much things have moved on."

Back in the Fifties. The early Fifties – 1953 – to be precise, which makes it over forty years ago. And OK, yes, Mr Hartley himself doesn't look much older than forty, which doesn't quite make sense, but he's looked like this for as long as Kevin can remember, and sometimes it's best just not to question things.

Besides, management comes with plenty of perks. Especially management of a company like Strexcorp.

Kevin returns the smile. "Right this way…"

***

The tour goes well. _Very_ well, in fact. By the time it draws to a close, Kevin and Hartley are walking side-by-side, whilst Kevin tells the story of the first live interview he ever conducted.

"…So then his eyes went red and he jumped on me, shouting in a language even _I_ couldn't quite pin down, and for a second, I've got to admit, I was _stumped_. But then I took a deep breath and cracked him twice about the head with my microphone stand. Worked a treat!"

Derek Hartley laughs. "I remember that one. Other than a brief pause when you both hit the floor, I don't think you broke flow the whole way through."

Kevin gives a modest little shrug. "I am a professional, after all."

The older man headtilts. "Indeed. Which reminds me – to that end – I am hosting a party at my estate in two days' time, for Strexcorp's rising stars. I've got employees from across the business coming: predominately young people who will shape the future of this great company of ours. And Kevin, I want you to be there. Not to report on it, I hasten to add – although you're welcome to do so – but because I want you to be a part of it."

Hearing this is like running head-first into a brick wall. A very, very welcome brick wall. Kevin manages not to lose his composure too much, though he can't hold back a very bright smile. "I'd be honoured, sir," he breathes.

Hartley nods. "Good. Then I look forward to seeing you there."

They walk a little further, gradually heading back towards the entrance lobby, until Hartley stops in mid-step, turning to meet Kevin's eyes again. "Tell me something," he goes on, as if reading something in his employee's expression. "When you were conducting that interview and the man decided to alter the terms of engagement… did you have to give much thought to the physicality of it? Or did you just act on instinct?"

Perhaps in an answer all of its own, Kevin immediately says, "…Instinct."

This gets him a knowing smile. "I thought as much. Interesting…"

Hartley doesn't comment further, and Kevin opts not to question it, although he can tell that the other man is still considering the matter. And then – seemingly from out of nowhere – Hartley draws the knife he's wearing at his back, quickly launching at Kevin with it. For the barest second, Kevin can feel a wave of panic licking at the edges of his conscious mind, and then it all just… goes.

He doesn't think. He just raises a hand, catching Hartley's elbow with an open palm and blocking him sideways, before sidestepping quickly out of immediate range and keeping both hands ready to intercept a second attack as soon as it comes.

But it doesn't. Hartley relaxes after a moment, lowering the blade and smiling again. "Yes, oh yes, very good," he says, slipping the knife back into its sheath with a snap. "You've had no formal training?"

"Only the standard session during my employee induction week," Kevin replies, trying to get his breathing to go back to normal, and lowering his arms after another pause.

Hartley nods. "You have definite potential. I'll speak to one of my people and see if we can't build on it all the more. I must say, this was a very fortuitous trip."

That's one word for it. One of many.

Kevin doesn't stop smiling all the way home.

***

It's two nights later. As the sun sets on Desert Bluffs, which glitters deep red beneath its merciless overlord, Kevin puts on his very best suit and calls a cab to take him to Derek Hartley's estate.

"Wow, seriously?" the driver says, when Kevin tells him.

"I know, right?" Kevin replies, beaming.

The Hartley Estate is located on the south-eastern outskirts of Desert Bluffs, just beyond the furthest suburban developments. As the car draws closer, Kevin can see the central manor house – which is lit up from all four corners – and the broad driveway lined with imposing, angular statues that don't quite make logical sense.

But they're still impressive. Especially coated in so much blood.

He's greeted at the door by an enforcer in formalwear, who nods in recognition as Kevin gives his name.

"Ah yes," the enforcer says. "Mr Hartley mentioned you'd be coming. Enjoy the night."

Beyond the doors is a vast entrance hall, with a sweeping staircase leading to an upper gallery. The main body of the party seems to be here, spilling through into what looks like some kind of ballroom beyond another pair of open double-doors. There are quite a number of people milling about, sipping brightly-coloured drinks and talking, and for a moment Kevin just lets himself soak up the atmosphere; the thrill of even getting an invite to an event like this.

A few minutes later, having acquired himself a drink, he paces through into the ballroom. There are quite a few familiar faces around, though nobody he knows well, and he's just wondering if he should go introduce himself when he hears a voice from the side.

"…You're the radio guy, right?"

He turns. Sitting idly on a couch in the closest of the bay windows is a young woman who looks about his age. She has long, glittering blonde hair and unusually bright blue eyes, both of which are offset by the fact that she's wearing a black party dress and rather a lot of similarly-black eyeliner. It certainly goes with the look of obvious disinterest in the whole affair, and Kevin can't help wondering why she seems so unaffected by being here.

"That's right," he says, moving closer. "I'm Kevin."

The woman gives him an appraising stare, then offers a hand without getting up. "I'm Naomi."

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you," Kevin tells her, beaming as he shakes her hand. "What do you do?"

Naomi shrugs. "Junior management." She doesn't sound all that thrilled by it, though, which makes no sense because how could you _not_ be thrilled by being a Strexcorp junior manager? Especially at their age.

"Do you like it?" he asks.

Naomi shrugs again. "'s all right. Better than another one of these parties, at least."

"Oh, have you been to one before?"

This gets him a slightly quizzical look. "Uh… yeah. Like, all of them. I… wait, you don't know who I am, do you?"

Kevin realises now that he's missed something, but he can't quite work out what. Naomi, for her part, seems _pleased_ rather than annoyed, and she rises elegantly to her feet.

"I told you," she says, "I'm Naomi. Naomi _Hartley_."

The penny drops with the force of a meteor. Kevin stares. "…You're Mr Hartley's daughter?"

Naomi laughs, though there's a lot of warmth behind it. "Yep," she says, with a wry edge to her tone. "One of two. The younger one."

He can see it in her eyes, now: that edge of cool certainty and calm control so reminiscent of her father's favoured expression.

"Then it's even _more_ of a pleasure to meet you," Kevin enthuses.

Naomi seems to take this in, though doesn't react to it quite the way he expected. Instead, she says, "…I like your show."

"Well, thank you! I'm having a _great_ time presenting it. I never thought I'd get into radio, but now that I am I just can't imagine doing anything else!"

"What did you think you'd be doing?" Naomi asks.

"I don't know," Kevin admits. "I mean, I studied Ancient Linguistics and Parapsychology at college, so I sort of expected it would be something to do with that. But Strexcorp had other ideas!"

"Strexcorp usually does," Naomi murmurs, and then – without skipping a beat – she goes on to add, "Ancient Linguistics and Parapsychology? Smiling God, are you a _geek?_ "

Kevin laughs. "Hardly. I just like my books a little, that's all."

"What ancient languages do you speak?"

"Unmodified Sumerian and Linear-B. And a reasonable amount of Latin. I also know Russian, but not the ancient kind. And Spanish, ditto." He grins. "And English, of course."

Naomi looks impressed. "OK, wow, you _are_ a geek. Bet you had more fun than me. I went to Business School."

"I'm sure that must have been fun in its own way," Kevin reasons.

"…I guess," Naomi replies, though she doesn't sound convinced. " _Lauren_ certainly thought so."

"Lauren?" Kevin repeats.

Naomi sighs heavily. "Yeah," she says. "My older sister."

She gestures out into the centre of the room, where a woman in a glittering red party dress stands surrounded by a number of young, eager-looking men, all of them drinking champagne and hanging on her every word. And if Naomi hadn't told him the two of them were related, Kevin would never have guessed. Unlike Naomi, Lauren has dark hair, and a far more calculating expression on her face, and she seems quite delighted to be here. She does have those same bright blue eyes, though.

Must be a family thing. It's certainly distinctive. After all, pretty much everyone in Desert Bluffs tends to have eyes that are rather _darker_.

"…Let me guess," Naomi says, tone wry, after Kevin has been silent for a moment. "You were smitten the moment you laid eyes on her and now you'd just _love_ me to introduce you? Honestly, it's the same _every_ time…"

Kevin turns his attention back to Naomi, looking somewhat taken aback. "Uhm… no, I'm good."

This seems to surprise Naomi more than a little. "You are?"

"Yes."

"But weren't you just staring at her?"

"Well, I did for a moment, but mostly I was just thinking about how everyone in your family has really unusual eyes, and then… I'll be honest, I was sort of checking out the guy over by the giant fireplace."

This makes Naomi smile again. "Seriously? You're into men?"

Kevin nods. "I sure am. And…"

He's just about to ask Naomi what she thinks of the young man in question when something dawns on him. Call it… instinct.

"But you're not, are you?"

Now Naomi grins. "Oh, you're good. And nope, not even a little bit."

Kevin grins too. "We make quite a pair, don't we?"

"So it would seem. And I'd offer to introduce you to the guy you are _still_ staring at, but I'm afraid I don't recognise him. The one he's talking to, though, now him I do know."

"You and me both," Kevin replies. "There's no mistaking the vibrant plaid, formalwear or otherwise."

He's quite right. Said plaid-clad figure, who is also about their age, is James Paulson, son of Josiah Paulson, the Desert Bluffs farmer.

You know?

Following in his father's footsteps, James is already becoming a key member of the Strexcorp Agricultural Concern. Rumour has it that he's even researching potential methods of bio-engineering, to improve crop yields.

Amongst other things.

At this point, a figure makes its way over to them, cutting effortlessly through the crowd. Kevin can't quite keep the delighted look out of his eyes, though Naomi seems less pleased.

It's Derek Hartley.

"Kevin!" he says, brightly. "You made it. I'm so glad. Are you enjoying the evening?"

"Oh yes," Kevin enthuses. Something about the Strexcorp CEO just makes everything seem brighter and better and _happier_ , and Kevin can't help liking that. "I've just been talking to your lovely daughter."

"So I noticed," Hartley responds, with an odd little flicker in his eyes that makes Naomi roll hers. "Hitting it off, are we?"

Naomi follows the eyeroll with a heavy sigh. "I'm gay, Dad, I told you."

"I know, I know," Hartley answers. "And that's fine, but you can't blame a man for being eager to get a few grandchildren."

Naomi sighs again. "Dad, seriously, I don't even _like_ children. Well, OK, I like them fine when I can give them back after a couple of hours, but that's about it. Besides, we both know it's only a matter of time before your little _princess_ produces a few."

"Naomi, don't be rude about your sister," Hartley chides. "And remember, I built this company from the ground up. Securing an heir is important to me."

"Lauren's your heir."

"Indeed. I mean _after_ her."

Yet another sigh. Kevin can't help thinking that Naomi and her father have had this conversation a number of times before. "I still have no reason to care," Naomi goes on. "Lauren's eldest would be heir after her, and any child of mine wouldn't get a look-in. But, hey, if I wanted to inherit, I wouldn't do it by producing children."

"No?"

"No. I'd just kill my sister."

Derek Hartley shakes his head. "Are you too old to send to your room?"

" _Far_ too old."

"I could still try."

Naomi looks unfazed. "Go right ahead. It would get me out of here sooner."

Regaining control of the situation with razor-sharp focus, Hartley turns to Kevin. " _Speaking_ of my other daughter, why don't I introduce you?"

And Hartley smoothly puts his hand on Kevin's back, directing him away from Naomi before she can get another word in. Kevin isn't entirely sure what he thinks of this: he finds himself rather liking Naomi and wanting to talk to her more, but on the other hand he _really_ wants to keep impressing Mr Hartley, so refusing at this point would obviously be a bad idea.

So he lets himself be led out into the centre of the room – allowing just a quick backwards glance at Naomi in the hope of staying on her good side – and towards the gaggle of young men surrounding the woman in the red party dress.

The small crowd parts to let Hartley and Kevin through, and Lauren instantly beams as her father approaches, seeming every bit the perfect daughter. "Hey, Dad," she says, taking a step forward and kissing him on the cheek. "We were just talking about you. I was telling everyone how you recently made me an executive in Strexcorp's media arm."

Hartley beams too. "But of course. I'm sure you're going to be _brilliant_ at it."

"Well, I'm brilliant at everything I do!" Lauren replies, tone devoid of irony. At this point, her attention gets as far as Kevin, and she headtilts, with an oddly hawk-like edge to her expression. "So, Dad, who's your friend?"

There's an undertone to this question, although Kevin doesn't have more than a second to muse on it because Hartley quickly gestures between him and Lauren. "Lauren, this is Kevin, the presenter of Radio Desert Bluffs' flagship show. Kevin… my eldest daughter, Lauren Hartley."

They shake hands. Lauren has a very firm grip. " _Charmed_ ," she enthuses, now looking at him appraisingly. "I love the radio. I love media full-stop. It's so very… powerful, don't you think?"

"Oh yes," Kevin agrees. "It's one of the most effective means to sway hearts and minds. Perhaps _the_ most effective."

"Other than invocation of special privileges!" Hartley adds, in a tone obviously meant to sound both joking and serious all at once.

"Well, _quite_ ," says Lauren, pointedly. "So, Kevin, you're the new voice of Desert Bluffs? It's a big responsibility."

"It sure is," Kevin agrees. "But I love every second of it. Reporting the news, inspiring my listeners… and spreading word of Strexcorp's latest accomplishments, of course."

Lauren nods. "Of _course_. We should talk, you and I. Come get another drink with me."

And, before Kevin can reply, Lauren has locked arms with him and is leading him out from the crowd, back in the direction of the bar. Which is fine. Good, in fact, given that she's working on the media side too, and is therefore part of his management chain.

It does get him _quite_ a few looks from some of the men Lauren had been talking to before, though.

But that's hardly his fault, now, is it?

***

The next hour or so passes in something of a blur. Lauren has the ability to just _talk_ without any kind of prompting, and regardless of the response she's getting from her audience.

Honestly, she'd be good in radio. Kevin tells her this at one point, which gets him a _very_ melodious laugh and a strange little eyeflicker that proves he's not wrong.

And then word starts to pass through the party that it's time for everyone to gather in the main ballroom. Once they have, Derek Hartley himself steps up to address them, standing at the head of the room and raising a hand for quiet. His wife is on his arm, now, wearing a stunningly elegant gown hued in dusky gold.

And… OK, she does seem rather older than him. Susan Hartley looks about the age you would expect for a woman with two daughters in their twenties. In contrast, her husband looks rather more like his offspring should still have ages in single-figures.

But that's hardly something to dwell on, right?

The Hartleys aren’t alone, either: standing nearby are Derek's colleagues who, headed by him, make up the Strexcorp Management Board. There are four of them; two women and two men – Nina Belmonte, Lilith Wallace, Hikaru Tachibana and Aidan Outteridge – all of a similar age to their magnificent leader.

"Good evening, everyone," Mr Hartley begins. "I hope you're enjoying yourselves. Never forget, Strexcorp believes in _playing_ hard as well as _working_ hard. And I know all of you have worked _hard_. That's why you're here. You represent the very best of Strexcorp's younger generation, and tonight is for you. I want to thank you all for what you bring to this company; for what your efforts empower myself and the rest of the board to accomplish. We live in the greatest town in America, as part of the greatest company in America, and that's something to be celebrated."

"Hear, hear!" someone shouts, and there's a spontaneous round of applause.

"I won't keep you much longer," Hartley goes on, once the room has gone quiet again. "I merely wanted to offer my thanks on behalf of the board. And I hope that, when you return to your respective workplaces in the morning, you'll share your enthusiasm and drive with every one of your own colleagues. For tonight… enjoy the reward that each of you has earned."

Susan Hartley holds up a hand. "And praise be to the Smiling God!" she adds.

"Praise be!" the crowd echoes, many holding up their own hands too.

There's the obligatory pause, and then everyone applauds again, before the crowd starts to disperse, going back to their own conversations.

"Good speaker, your Dad," Kevin says, looking sideways at Lauren.

"Oh, _isn't_ he just?" she gushes, eyes lingering at the head of the room, where her father is now deep in conversation with a pair of women. " _So_ ," Lauren goes on, smoothly attaching herself to Kevin's arm again. "Tell me more about life in radio…"

He's happy to oblige. Of slight concern is the possibility that Lauren is now actively hitting on him, but hopefully he's just misreading her enthusiasm.

Because, if not, she's going to be disappointed.


	2. Erutara

**Erutara**

_Red_

***

The party is a great success. As it draws to a close, the attendees gradually start to filter off home. Most are picked up by taxis or other cars, which means there's a steady stream of vehicles making their way up to the front of the manor house before disappearing off into the night.

Deciding he'd probably better join them, Kevin wanders outside into the warm, desert air, and down the driveway a little, close to one of those strange, angular statues. It's quieter over here, and very pleasant too, and he stands staring up at the stars for a moment, unable to hold back a smile when he thinks of how much fun tonight has been.

But… home is calling, so he starts to walk down the driveway, towards the main road, where he can hail a cab. He hasn't gone far, however, before a pair of tall men loom out of the darkness. They're dressed in formalwear, and he vaguely recognises them from the party, although he doesn't know who they are.

"Hi there," he says, brightly. "You both off home too? If you're heading in the direction of Icarus Point, I'll gladly share a cab."

This doesn't get the response he was hoping for. Two sets of eyes narrow at him.

"I think not," one of the men says. "No. It's you we wanted to talk to."

"Oh? What about?"

"You stay away from Lauren Hartley," the second man growls. "We've known her far longer than you have, and we're not letting our chances be wrecked by some two-bit radio host."

Kevin claps a hand to his chest. "OK, wow, that is _hurtful_ ," he says. "Furthermore, Miss Hartley is a smart, independent woman, and who she's interested in is _her_ business. This is the _nineties_ , not some turn-of-the-century romance novel. _And_ , what's more, I'm not pursuing her. I'm _really_ not. So even if this _was_ some turn-of-the-century romance novel, you'd have nothing to worry about."

He realises as he falls silent that this may have been a tiny little bit of a diatribe, but doesn't feel nearly as guilty about it as he might have expected. The two men, for their part, exchange _quite_ a look before turning matching glowers on him again.

"Smiling God, you're annoying," the first man says. "I was hoping to provoke you into a fight but, honestly, I think I'll just kill you right now."

And, without a fraction of a hesitation, the man draws a long, slender silver blade. It glitters in the starlight, hypnotic and beautiful, and even more so when the second man draws another blade just like it.

Kevin doesn't stop to think. He doesn't allow even the briefest pause for the wholly understandable alarm to make itself felt. Instinct kicks in, the entire world sharpening down to this place, this moment, this decision… and it's as though time itself has slowed. As though he can see each movement telegraphed several steps ahead.

The first man lunges at him, and Kevin quickly intercepts, knocking the incoming knife aside and delivering two perfectly-timed blows to his attacker's midsection and neck. The response – evidently unexpected – catches the man completely by surprise, and it doesn't take much to wrench the knife from his hand.

Nor does it take very much to drive the knife into his chest. It certainly doesn't take any thought. It just _happens_. And then… then the man is staring at him in very obvious shock, his shirt a rapidly-spreading sea of red.

Kevin pulls the blade back, and the man drops to the ground. As he does, the second man roars something that sounds like it might be in Akkadian, though it's hard to tell for sure given that Kevin is a little distracted right now: notably by the way the other man lunges at him, trying to get a blow in with his own knife.

He's acting in anger, though, and whilst that can be a source of drive and strength, it's hardly good for focus and accuracy. Kevin knows this on some level and he blocks easily, without thinking about it, before leaping at his attacker and barrelling them both to the ground. There's a thud as they hit the grass, but it's really the other man who makes contact as Kevin is already mostly on top of him.

Mostly on top of him and driving the blade into his chest.

The second man stares up at him in very acute shock, which doubles as Kevin tugs the blade free, before collapsing down and – perhaps mercifully – expiring in little more than a moment.

Kevin sits back, the adrenaline finally hitting, as the rest of reality swims into focus. He's on top of a man who is quite clearly dead, holding a knife that – like his hands – is slick with blood. It's surprisingly warm.

Is that normal? It must be.

Actually, it isn't just his hands that are coated in blood. Quite a lot of him is. And OK, yes, he lives in Desert Bluffs and he's _used_ to blood, but not to having gotten covered in it like _this_.

Kevin staggers to his feet, knife still in hand, and – as he does – he realises that there's quite a few people watching. People who clearly heard the commotion and came over. They're standing a good distance back, some looking alarmed, some looking impressed.

He feels a little dizzy. This is not right at all! He's a radio presenter, not an enforcer!

A figure detaches itself from the semicircle of onlookers: a woman in a black party dress.

Naomi Hartley.

"…You OK?" she asks, carefully, moving towards him.

"Uhm… I… yeah, I think so," Kevin replies, running a hand over his chest as if concerned he might have been stabbed, even though he knows full-well that neither of his attackers even came close. The world has gone strange again: slow and hazy, as if he can't quite process what he's seeing.

Naomi puts a hand on his shoulder – seemingly unaffected by the blood – and turns him to face her. As she does, a second figure paces over.

"My, my, I wasn't expecting _that_ ," Lauren remarks, smoothly. "I'm impressed."

"Shut up, Lauren," Naomi throws back, with an oddly defensive edge to her voice. "Just go tell Dad. And get him to send some enforcers down here."

Lauren throws up her hands. "Well, sure thing, Little Miss Speedy. Honestly, can't a girl take a moment to simply _enjoy_ the sight of an attractive young man covered in blood?"

"Lauren!" Naomi hisses. "Smiling God's sake, just do it."

This gets her a heavy sigh and an eyeroll, but Lauren does then turn and head back up to the house at a reasonable pace.

When she's gone, Naomi looks at Kevin again. "First time?" she asks, not needing to elaborate on what she means.

Kevin nods. "…Uh… yeah," he answers.

"You'll be fine. You're not hurt. Just remember to keep breathing."

"…I might forget?"

Naomi smiles, not unkindly. "You'd be surprised."

"OK. I… OK."

On some level, Kevin is vaguely aware that he's in shock. Can you be in shock and aware of it? He supposes that you can, because he is.

"I know this might not be what you want to hear at this point," Naomi goes on, "but that was pretty awesome. I saw most of it, but I wasn't close enough to intervene until it was all over. Although… you don't seem to have needed help."

"…I guess I didn't."

"You've seriously never had to do that before?"

Kevin manages to shake his head. "Nope. I did have to hit a man with a microphone stand one time, but only to knock him out. Not to kill him. Oh, and your father came at me with a knife the day we met, but he said he was just testing."

Naomi does not seem at all surprised by this part. "I still can't quite believe you've never had to do that before, though."

"I'm a nice guy!" Kevin protests. "People don't generally try to kill me!"

He's gesturing slightly with the blade now, though without any real intent.

"You want to give me the knife?" Naomi asks, carefully.

"…Nope. Not even a little bit."

"That's OK. It's just the shock talking. You'll feel better soon."

"…You know an _alarming_ amount about dealing with this sort of thing."

"Oh, you have no idea," Naomi tells him, though she doesn't get the chance to say any more as the group of onlookers parts to let Derek Hartley through. He has six enforcers in tow, with Lauren following on behind, pointedly refusing to hurry.

"Well, now, I thought this night had been a little low on violence," Hartley remarks, very calmly. He turns to his enforcers. "You two, deal with this mess. The rest of you, please oversee the departure of the rest of my guests. And keep it _civil_. I do not want a repeat of last year's company picnic. Clear?"

"Perfectly clear, sir," one of the enforcers replies, and the six of them go about their orders at once.

As they do, Hartley turns to Kevin. "You're having quite a week, aren't you?" he says, warmly. "Are you all right?"

"…Yeah…" Kevin manages.

"What happened?"

"Two guys. They were upset because Lauren was being so nice to me at the party. I didn't provoke them, though, I promise."

Hartley looks weirdly pleased. "I'm sure you didn't. Lauren, honey, will you please re-iterate to that crowd of young men who gravitate towards you that I will not tolerate them stabbing people?"

"Yes, Dad," Lauren drawls, heavily.

"Good. Now, my boy, let's get you back up to the house."

"The house? I don't want to impose. I was heading home. I'll be fine."

"Kevin, I insist."

Very much not in a position to argue, Kevin lets himself be led back up towards the manor, which has light spilling out through its broad, elegant windows, making everything glitter deep red.

Strange, how different blood looks when you're the one who's drawn it.

He's guided indoors and through to a section that was closed off during the party: an elegant sitting room containing a number of armchairs and couches. Without regard for the blood his young employee is covered in, Hartley waves for him to take a seat, and Kevin doesn't argue.

"I'd better deal with that," Hartley says, gently prying the knife from Kevin's hand. A pair of enforcers has followed them from the front door (seriously, those guys are everywhere) and Hartley waves them over, giving one the knife. "And please fetch us some coffee. I think Kevin here could use it."

As the enforcers withdraw again, Naomi sits down next to Kevin and puts a hand on his shoulder, which makes Lauren roll her eyes and drop onto another of the couches, reclining and elegantly kicking her heels off.

"Well, now," Hartley goes on, with a pointed look at both of his daughters, before turning his attention back to Kevin. "Don't you worry about what happened. It's an occupational hazard. Some people have _no_ respect for the company hierarchy."

"I am sorry though," Kevin replies. His focus is slowly returning, but it doesn't seem to be in a particular hurry.

"Seriously, my boy, don't concern yourself with it," Hartley insists. "The night – though a success – had been rather _tame_ up until now. You do seem to have a way of enlivening everything you do."

Kevin manages a modest little shrug. "It's a gift," he says.

Hartley smiles. "Indeed."

At this point, they're interrupted as the double-doors open and Susan Hartley comes walking in. " _Ah_ , Derek, there you are," she says. "Hayden said something about an incident outside and… oh. Yes, I see," she adds, taking in the sight of Kevin and – like everyone else – appearing completely unperturbed.

"Sorry, Mrs Hartley," Kevin says.

"Oh, please, don't you worry," she insists, moving to sit by her husband. "We could use the excitement."

"Even so, I really didn't want to stab two men to death on your lawn."

Susan gives a soft, amused laugh. "You're new to the company, aren't you?"

"Coming up on six months, yes."

"I figured as much. You'll get used to it."

"I certainly don't think it will be a problem for you," her husband concurs. "From the sound of it, you nigh-on _destroyed_ those two. After our discussion the other day, I was planning to introduce you to one of my people – Andrew, I'm sure you'd like him – to get you set up for some hand-to-hand training. But honestly, I think you can skip Andrew and go straight to Terry. I once saw him take on three Fifth Plane adjuncts on his own and walk out alive."

Kevin tries not to stare too much, whilst his mind works out which part of this most requires response. "…Do you often have trouble with Fifth Plane adjuncts?"

Maybe they do. Strexcorp has known ties with a number of the Infernal Planes, and quite a few employees even have summoning rights, with a soul-bind to their own assigned demon. It's one of the many perks of being part of the company, in fact, and something Kevin hopes he might eventually work his way up to.

Hartley shrugs. "Now and again. They're not exactly high in the pecking order, so they tend to get a little awkward sometimes. But when I have trouble with them, I call Terry. I'll set up a meeting for the two of you. A few sessions with him, and… well. Should be something to see."

It's certainly not an opportunity Kevin is going to turn down. How often do you get the chance to train under a man who can take on actual demons? And though Kevin is still recovering from the incident on the lawn, he can't help thinking that – once he has – this is something he'd like to pursue.

If nothing else, apparently it's vital to progress in Strexcorp. And Kevin wants to progress in Strexcorp. He wants to progress _a lot_.

"Then I'd be honoured," Kevin replies.

"Wonderful," Hartley says, with another bright smile.

Before he can speak again, the doors open and one of the enforcers from earlier comes back in with several cups of coffee. Kevin accepts his gratefully, taking a sip at once, and… yes. Yes. It does help.

"Better?" Susan asks.

"Yes," he tells her. "Thank you. And I really am sorry about all the blood."

"Oh, don't you worry," Susan insists. "We've had far worse over the years. You should have _seen_ Naomi the day she got her soul-bind."

" _Mom_ , could you maybe _not_ tell that story?" Naomi says, scowling.

"Sweetie, it's adorable," her mother replies.

"Yeah, Naomi, how many people did your demented little gremlin kill that day?" Lauren adds, pointedly.

"Seven, and I said I was sorry!" Naomi exclaims. "And don't call her a gremlin. Not unless you want her to demonstrate one of the many creative ways she could end you. Besides, she's Second Infernal Plane, show some respect!"

Lauren rolls her eyes. "Right, because I'm going to bow and scrape to a being from the _Second_ Infernal Plane."

There are suddenly a lot of weird looks going around, but Kevin is sensible enough not to ask questions. Sometimes family politics are best left alone.

" _Well_ ," Susan says, in the bright tones of one expert in changing the topic, "Kevin, you simply must stay the night."

"I really don't want to impose," he replies.

"Oh, nonsense," Hartley insists, with an idle wave of the hand. "It's the least we can do."

Kevin is a little surprised by how friendly they're being to him, although he supposes it's simply because they're good people, and he's a nice guy. And Desert Bluffs _is_ the happiest place on Earth, after all; occasional stabbing incidents aside.

He smiles. "Then sure," he agrees. "Why not?"

"Why not indeed?" Hartley replies.

It's certainly going to be a great story to tell during tomorrow's broadcast.

***

The next morning, Kevin wakes feeling much better. The adrenaline has long since worn off, and he's just left with the rest of it. Say what you like about being jumped by two armed men in the dark, it apparently works _wonders_ for getting your boss to notice you. He's still a little surprised by how easy the combat aspect of it all was, though. OK, yes, he's done the standard employee training – everyone has – but he knows, modesty aside, that what he did last night was rather more.

It feels… good, though. When he stops and thinks about it, outside the moment, rational and focused. It feels _really_ good.

Once he's dressed, he finds his way downstairs – seriously, this manor is _huge_ – and into the kitchen, following the sounds of conversation. All three women of the house are here already, though there's no sign of Mr Hartley himself.

"Ah, Kevin, there you are," says Susan, brightly. "Breakfast? I'm making pancakes."

"Oooh, yes please, I love pancakes!"

"Wonderful! Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, after all. Join the girls and help yourself to some coffee."

This sounds good. Kevin takes a seat at the breakfast bar next to Naomi. "You're looking better this morning," she says. "Recovered from last night's unexpected excitement?"

"Definitely," Kevin answers, as he pours himself a cup of coffee. "And I slept _really_ well. Had some very bizarre dreams, though…"

"I'm not surprised," Naomi replies, with an odd flicker in her expression.

"You looked good with all the blood," Lauren adds, lowering her copy of the Desert Bluffs Daily Financier (the business pages, of course) and giving him an appraising glance.

Naomi glowers at her sister, though doesn't comment.

"My husband will be along shortly," Susan says, as she comes over with a huge stack of pancakes to join them at the table. "He'll just be finishing his morning invocations. Takes them _very_ seriously."

"I can imagine," Kevin remarks.

"Sometimes he even communes with the Smiling God," Lauren adds, idly.

Kevin stares. " _Really?_ "

"Oh yes. I mean, not _often_ , because it's not exactly easy. But occasionally. When he needs to."

" _Wow_." It's hard not to be impressed by something like this. Kevin vaguely wonders if anyone ever gets to watch… because _that_ would be something to see.

"Have you done much summoning yourself?" Naomi asks, helping herself to pancakes.

"Not really," Kevin admits. "I mean, I did a couple of classes on it when I was studying Ancient Linguistics, but it was mostly theoretical, not practical."

Naomi headtilts. "You want to give it a try sometime? I'm pretty good, but I bet with all those languages you can speak you'd be a natural."

"Sure!" Kevin beams.

"Don't sell yourself short, dear," Susan says to her younger daughter. "You're not just 'pretty good', you're _brilliant_. That's why you have a soul-bind to a being from the Second Infernal Plane."

"Oh, _this_ again, Mom?" Lauren interjects, lowering her newspaper once more and pointedly rolling her eyes. "I _told_ you, I went Third Plane because I _liked_ the guy, not because I couldn't handle Second Plane."

Susan does not back down. "That as may be, but the fact remains: Naomi is a better summoner than you. With practice, maybe even better than me."

"And Mom's the leader of a _coven_ ," Naomi says to Kevin, before Lauren can comment. "And has been for _forty-five years_."

Lauren gives an over-dramatic sigh and starts reading her newspaper again, pointedly ignoring them all.

"Oh, yes, I know," Kevin replies. "You're the one who leads the invocation to H'ygragagogoth at the annual festival."

"Indeed I am," Susan says. "A tricky one, that, but _so_ worth it. Get it just right and you can ride the high for _days_."

"…Too much information, Mom," Lauren cuts in, without looking up.

Susan merely flashes a grin at Naomi and Kevin, before going back to her pancakes.

" _Well_ , anyway, we should get together sometime soon and I can show you," Naomi says, in the tone of one practiced at pulling conversation around.

"I'd like that," Kevin agrees.

"Awesome. I'll call you."

"You don't have my number yet."

"Sure I do. Strexcorp junior management, remember?"

"Oh, of course!"

They always know where you are.

At this point, the door opens and Derek Hartley comes pacing in, dressed in one of his usual immaculate suits and beaming from ear to ear. He leans down to kiss his wife on the cheek before joining them at the table and reaching for the coffee.

"Well, good morning everyone," he says, brightly.

"Hey, Dad," Naomi replies.

"Good morning yourself," Lauren adds, sickly-sweet. "How were the invocations?"

"Oh, just great," Hartley tells her. "And so productive, as always. Now, Kevin, how are you this fine day?"

"I'm good, thank you," he answers. "I'm feeling much better."

"I knew you would be," Hartley replies. "A little more practice, and you won't even blink."

"I'm looking forward to it!"

And, strangely, he really is. Amazing how quickly you can change your mind on something.

***

The next few days pass in a blur. Quite a lot of people seem to know about the incident at the party even _before_ Kevin talks about it on the radio. Daniel looks _thoroughly_ unimpressed by it all, though it's hard to tell precisely why and – as usual – wiser not to ask.

And then, one afternoon, Daniel steps into the broadcast booth as Kevin is sitting back, having just gone to the weather.

"Sorry to interrupt, Mr Celebrity, but this arrived for you," he says, brandishing a bright orange envelope.

Kevin claps a hand to his chest. "Why don't you like me, Daniel?" he asks.

Daniel gives him a very flat look. "I can't imagine," he answers, tone dry as the desert.

There's just no pleasing some people. Kevin takes the envelope and waits for Daniel to leave again before he opens it… and immediately breaks into a broad smile as he reads the letter inside.

Mr Hartley wants to see him, this afternoon. At _Strexcorp HQ_.

Life just keeps on getting better and better!

***

The Strexcorp HQ building stands in the very centre of Desert Bluffs: a huge, angular skyscraper that stretches high above all the other buildings surrounding it. Kevin heads in through the main entrance, finding himself in the broad reception hall. He's never been here before, but he's heard stories about it, and the place certainly doesn't disappoint.

"Oh, you're the guy from the radio!" says the man at the reception desk. "I _love_ your show. And your piece about Mr Hartley's party the other night? Wow. I mean, seriously."

"Well, thank you!" Kevin replies. "I do like to keep my listeners entertained. I'm here to see Mr Hartley himself, actually."

The other man taps away at his computer for a moment – this place is just _so_ modern – and then looks up with a smile. "Yes, I've got you here. I'll call ahead and have them send someone down for you."

Moments later, the doors to one of the elevators sweep open and a pair of enforcers step out, both of whom Kevin recognises from the previous night. "Right this way," one says, gesturing for him to follow them back into the elevator. As the doors close, the second enforcer pulls out a knife and lightly nicks his own index finger, pressing the blood to the button for the highest floor.

A bloodlock. Of course. You have to maintain top-notch security in a place like this.

When the doors open again there's a wide room beyond, with a single, curved desk at its centre, and a pair of double doors off to the right. A young man sits at the desk, phone balanced on his ear, typing away at his computer.

"…Yes, that's right, two severance packages," he's saying. " _Very_ tricky business, and… hold on, Zeke, I'll have to call you back."

He quickly puts the phone down and rises to his feet. "Excellent, you're here," he says, offering Kevin a hand. "I'm Andrew, Mr Hartley's PA. It's a pleasure."

"Likewise!" Kevin tells him, shaking Andrew's hand. "He talked about you, actually. Told me you're good with a blade."

Andrew smiles. "Funny, he said the same thing about you," he replies, and then gestures to the double-doors. "Right this way. He's expecting you."

Taking a deep breath, Kevin paces over to the double-doors with Andrew at his side. The other man opens the door and waves him in, before closing it behind him.

The office beyond is huge and impressive. It's – unsurprisingly – centred on a broad desk, with a high-backed chair behind it, and floor-to-ceiling windows beyond. These offer a stunning view out over Desert Bluffs, which stands glittering deep-red in the glow of the afternoon sun.

The floor of the office is marked with the Strexcorp emblem in dark orange, though the walls have different markings on them: symbols Kevin doesn't recognise. They certainly look good, though. It all does. There's also another door off to the side, but where it leads is unclear.

Derek Hartley himself is seated at the desk, poring over a book that appears _very_ old, which he closes as Kevin walks in, looking up. He isn't alone, though: there's a man standing at Hartley's side, nigh-on at attention, albeit with his hands clasped behind his back.

"Ah, Kevin, good afternoon," Hartley says, brightly. "Do come in."

Kevin moves closer. "You wanted to see me?"

"Yes, yes, absolutely," Hartley replies, before gesturing to the man at his side. "This is Terry. He's… well. He's lots of things, but first and foremost he's my fixer."

"Your fixer?"

"That's right. When I need something particularly important dealing with… I send Terry. He's the best. And I think you could learn a lot from him."

"I'm looking forward to it," Kevin says, very much meaning every word.

"Well, then," Terry begins, with just a flicker of a glance at Hartley, "let's begin."

This is not quite what Kevin expected to hear. "Now?"

"Now," Terry repeats, unflinching.

"Oh, don't mind me," Hartley adds, sensing – quite correctly – why Kevin is a little surprised. "I like to take an active role in employee development. And I think this will be something to see."

Kevin smiles. "All right, then."

Terry moves closer, unclasping his hands from behind his back and revealing that he has a knife in each. The weapons are identical, and of a similar design to the ones those two men drew on Kevin after the party: a bright silver colour, with short hilts and long, slender blades. Each movement well-timed, Terry waits until he's on the same side of the desk as Kevin before lightly flipping one of the knives so as to offer it to him.

Cautiously, Kevin takes the hilt, watching Terry's stance in case the man decides to go for him. That's traditional at this point, right? To floor the new guy in order to prove how much he has to learn?

Terry doesn't, though, and instead steps back and moves out into the centre of the room, gesturing for Kevin to follow him. "Right," he says, "come at me. Come at me and try to kill me."

If Kevin was surprised before, he's stunned now. "…You're serious?"

"Of course I'm serious."

"…What if I actually hurt you?"

"If you cause me any real harm, I'm not doing my job properly. And, similarly, if I do _you_ any real harm, I'm not doing my job properly either. And I _always_ do my job properly, Kevin."

"Don't we all?" Kevin remarks, with a little smile now.

"Precisely. So. Come at me."

It seems somewhat unorthodox… but then, Kevin is not exactly well-versed in the accepted methods for teaching a person to knife-fight.

But he'd like to be. Oh yes. He'd like to be well-versed in all of it.

So he does as he's told… and _wow_ , but Terry moves _fast_. It's the start of quite a session: Terry first judging his ability and then starting to show him some techniques, and the other man is gratifyingly impressed by how quickly Kevin picks it up. And all the while… Kevin feels _amazing_. Like he's been waiting for this his whole life. And, OK, yes, it's clear he's got a long way to go before he's as good as Terry, but that's fine. More than fine. It's important to have goals.

And all the while, Derek Hartley watches. And smiles.

And _smiles_.


	3. Ijereja

**Ijereja**

_Priestess_

***

It's a week later.

Kevin and Terry have sparred every day since that first time in Derek Hartley's office. They usually meet at one of the local enforcer stations, training for several hours each evening.

It's tiring, no doubt about it. It's also exhilarating. Kevin doesn't say too much about it on the radio – getting the sense that this is something best treated with discretion – but he can't completely hide how much fun he's having.

Because he is. Terry may be pushing him hard, but the man is an excellent teacher and the two of them rapidly build up a good working relationship. And Kevin knows he has a lot to learn.

Perhaps more than he realised at first.

This particular afternoon, he's midway through a broadcast – having just gone to a commercial break – when Daniel steps into the booth.

"OK, Kevin, seriously, I am not your secretary," he says, without preamble.

"I never said you were," Kevin insists. "I wish I knew why you don't like me, though."

"You'll get there eventually," Daniel replies. "Anyway, like I said: I'm not your secretary, but I just took a phone message for you. Normally I'd drop it on the desk in your office and leave it at that, but I figure I should probably pass this one along in person."

"Oh? Why?"

Daniel's expression stiffens noticeably. "It's from Naomi Hartley."

"Naomi?" Kevin repeats, his own expression lighting up.

"Yep," Daniel confirms, and then headtilts. "Something going on there?"

Kevin folds his arms. "Daniel, seriously, you know I'm not into girls. Also, why does everyone always assume that two people of opposite genders can't just be friends? If it was a guy no one would think twice, and yet in that case something might _well_ be going on."

"…All done soapboxing now?" Daniel asks, flatly.

This gets him a little sigh. "Strexcorp pays me to soapbox, Daniel. It's my job."

"…Fine. Whatever. Like I said, Naomi Hartley called for you, and I'm passing the message along because she's the boss' daughter and I don't want to end up on his bad side."

"Awww, Daniel, Mr Hartley doesn't have a bad side. He's a very friendly guy."

"Yes, Kevin. Of course, Kevin." Daniel does not sound convinced. Or look convinced. Or anything close. "Do you want the message, then?"

"…Yes, please."

"Miss Hartley said she'd be dropping by at the end of the day. She also mentioned a plan involving teaching you how to summon things. Do you have _all_ of Mr Hartley's inner circle wrapped around your little finger now?"

"Nope," Kevin answers, brightly, and then – solely to wind Daniel up a little – he adds, "just his younger daughter and his fixer."

Daniel's expression goes suddenly guarded. "The guy you're training with is his fixer?"

"Yep. Terry. He's absolutely stunning with a blade."

"You want to watch out for him. I've heard stories."

Kevin beams. "Oh, Daniel, are you worried about me now?"

"No. I just don't want to have to go through the process of recruiting another radio host so soon after the last time."

"Awwww, I didn't know you cared."

"I don't. And now I'm going to leave because I have more important things to be doing, and it's almost time for you to drone on at your listeners again."

Kevin claps a hand to his chest. "One day I will get you to like me."

"I very much doubt that."

And Daniel walks out before Kevin can reply. But that's OK. Kevin is sure he can get through to the guy eventually. In the meantime… Naomi is coming to see him. This afternoon.

What a great day this is shaping up to be!

***

Once his broadcast is over, Kevin returns to his office to work on an editorial before he leaves for the day. It's just as he's putting the final touches to it that he hears a knock at his open door, and looks up.

"Hey," says Naomi Hartley.

"Hey yourself," Kevin replies. "Come on in. I'll only be a moment."

"No rush," Naomi tells him, leaning on the doorframe. "How's things?"

"Pretty amazing. Your father introduced me to Terry. He's teaching me how to fight."

Naomi nods. "So I hear. Apparently you're already very good at it."

"I try. It's _far_ too much fun."

" _Tell_ me about it," Naomi enthuses. "Terry taught Lauren and me when we were little. The guy moves like lightning."

"I know. It's kinda hot, actually…"

Kevin has not admitted this to anyone, but somehow he can just talk to Naomi and it feels perfectly normal.

She headtilts. "I didn't know you were into older men."

He shrugs. "I am if they're hot. I don't think Terry has even noticed, though. To be honest, I don't think _he's_ interested in _anyone_."

"I'd have to agree with you there," Naomi says. "He's _very_ dedicated to his work. And to my Dad. Only… not like _that_."

There's a weird little flicker in her eyes at this, though Kevin decides it would be safer not to ask.

" _Well_ ," Naomi goes on, the moment having passed, "are you still up for some summoning this evening?"

"Definitely!" Kevin enthuses. "I've been looking forward to it. Although…" He pauses a second, wondering if he should ask. "…Do I get to see the one you're soul-bound to?"

Luckily, Naomi smiles. "Of course. You think I'd pass up the chance to show her off? You'll have to stand back when I do, though. The health and safety people would have a field day if something went wrong."

"Even her summoning is dangerous?"

"Oh, you bet. She can make people blink out of existence. On the spot. Just: wham. Gone."

"…That's _cool_."

"You just wait!"

***

So they set off back to the Hartley Estate in Naomi's car. As they head up the driveway, Kevin can't help thinking that the whole place looks just as impressive in daylight; maybe more so, in fact, given the way the late afternoon sun makes those strange statues cast even stranger shadows.

"Dad'll still be at the office," Naomi says, as she waves Kevin inside. "Lauren too, probably. Hopefully. Not sure about Mom, though." She closes the door, glancing around. "Hello?" she calls out. "I'm home."

There's no answer. Naomi shrugs. "Probably out. There'll be enforcers in, but they won't disturb us. And if they do they likely won't live to regret it."

And she leads the way deeper into the house, eventually down to a large set of double doors with a strange, almost twisted insignia carved deep into the wood from top to bottom. "Here we are," she says.

"What's the symbol?" Kevin asks, eyes following the lines, mentally tracing the way they curve and intersect.

"It's a protective ward," Naomi explains. "Just in case any of the summoning goes wrong. Dad uses this place a lot for some pretty high-level stuff."

The door doesn't have any visible handles, but it opens easily at Naomi's touch, and clunks shut behind them once they're in. Kevin is vaguely aware of this part, but mostly he's distracted by the sight he's now faced with.

The room they've entered is huge. Even given the size of the manor from the outside, Kevin can't quite work out how it fits in here. It must be as large as an entire football pitch, and five or six storeys high, with a vaulted ceiling. There are no windows, but the room is lit up nonetheless, and far more so than the candles it contains would allow. A variety of strange, twisted symbols – similar to the one on the outside of the door – mark the walls, along with what looks like writing in at least two… no, three different languages. One is definitely Unmodified Sumerian, though Kevin can't identify the others.

"What do you think?" Naomi asks, with a twinkle in her eye.

Kevin grins. "It's incredible."

"I knew you'd love it. OK. So. How's about I introduce you to my demon, and then I'll show you a few chants?"

"Sounds good to me! Should I stand back?"

"Yes. You should definitely stand back. As in, you should stay here and I'm going out into the middle of the room."

Naomi paces off, moving to the centre of the huge space, across the stone floor. When she gets to where she wants to be, she stands facing him – and, even at this distance, Kevin can see how happy she looks.

It's odd. People in Desert Bluffs are usually happy. It's that kind of place. But he gets the impression that Naomi isn't always.

He wonders why. He doesn't have long to muse on it, though, for at this point Naomi holds out her arms, head a little back, and starts to chant. It's a language Kevin doesn't recognise at all – which means he simply _must_ ask her about it later – and it echoes in the huge hall with a resonance that seems to magnify with each word. A spiral of what looks like smoke starts to blur into existence around Naomi, starting small but increasing and increasing until she's half-shrouded in fog, albeit fog that has formed into distinct tendrils. They spread out, some kind of energy sparking between them, like a storm made manifest, and Kevin can't help feeling that they're an actual _thing_ , as opposed to merely smoke.

It's seriously impressive.

After a moment or two, the swirling tendrils start to fade back, receding into nothingness, and revealing that Naomi now has… something… sitting on her shoulder. Once the last of the fog has vanished, the chant comes to an end and Naomi drops her arms, taking a deep breath before tilting her head to murmur softly to the… whatever it is… that has appeared.

"You can come closer now," she then says, looking over at Kevin.

He doesn't need telling twice. As he draws nearer, he can see that the _something_ on Naomi's shoulder is a creature the size of a large cat, but which looks more like a cross between a lizard and… what did Lauren call it that night? A gremlin?

It sort of does. Though Kevin is far too smart to say this out loud.

The creature certainly sprawls like a cat, draping itself across Naomi's shoulders and letting its tail curl down her back. Its pointed ears flick as Kevin gets closer, golden eyes watching him warily.

Naomi gestures to it. "This," she says, a little proudly, "is Ozhen'ipleth. She's my demon."

Kevin smiles, meeting eyes with the creature and getting the slightly unsettling sense that it… that _she_ … is appraising him. And yes, she may look like a pet, but there's intelligence in those eyes. _Sentience_.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," he tells her.

Ozhen'ipleth flicks her ears at him again, and then makes a purring noise that sounds like gravel in a blender, only _worse_ , before relaxing against Naomi's shoulder and idly waving a paw in his direction.

"That means she likes you," Naomi interprets.

"I'm glad." And then, because he's an inquisitive soul, Kevin can't help adding, "…What would she do if she didn't like me?"

"That depends," Naomi replies. "You might still exist at the end of it. You might not. If you did, though, you'd probably wish you didn't."

"You don't introduce her to many of your friends, do you?" Kevin surmises.

Naomi smiles. "Strangely, no."

"But you thought she'd like me?"

"I did. I'm a good judge of character."

Ozhen'ipleth makes that purring sound again and swishes her tail from side to side, which Kevin supposes is some sort of agreement. "What language were you using to summon her?" he asks.

"It's called Dzy-an-thyl," Naomi replies, with an odd little flicker in her expression. "It's the main language used on the upper three infernal planes."

"You can speak extra-planar?"

"Pretty well, yes. Dad taught Lauren and me from when we were small. He said it was a useful skill to have."

"Your father is a complicated man."

"You have _no_ idea. Now… you want to try summoning something?"

"Goodness, yes. It's… dangerous, though, right?"

Naomi nods. "Absolutely. You shouldn't summon anything powerful unless you're soul-bound to it, and if you're not then you need some way to contain it because most extra-planars do _not_ take kindly to being dragged through a dimensional gate without being asked. We can get away with a lot in here, though, because of all the warding. It's why Dad has the place. Plus, Ozhen'ipleth will see to any troublemakers."

Ozhen'ipleth purrs again in obvious agreement.

"And," Naomi goes on, "we won't invoke anything big to begin with. We do need to find a suitable language, though… I really only know English and Dzy-an-thyl, but… wait, you said you speak Unmodified Sumerian, right?"

"Yep. Since I was seventeen."

"I can just about get by in it, but only because Dad insisted I take evening classes when I was at Business School. We can use that, then. It's much safer if we work in an ancient, dead, or extra-planar language, after all. Most demons don't react well to being summoned in standard human languages."

"Plus it sounds cooler."

"I suspect they think the same," Naomi remarks, with a wry smile. Then she glances across at Ozhen'ipleth again. "Heni? Could you let me have some room?"

The demon flicks her tail for a moment, then gives what is clearly a shrug and hops easily down from Naomi's shoulder, pacing across the stone floor and then curling up against it. And Kevin can't help feeling that the creature is pretending to be disinterested whilst actually wanting to watch.

Not the audience he expected, but appropriate all the same.

"Right, then," Naomi says. "Let's begin…"

***

'Fun' doesn't even come close to describing it, and a good couple of hours pass before they finally call a halt to it all.

It's certainly been an interesting session. By now, Kevin and Naomi are sitting back to back on the floor, whilst Ozhen'ipleth deals with a small, imp-like creature that got a little uppity shortly after appearing on this plane. And this is surprisingly funny to watch, especially given that Ozhen'ipleth hunts like a cat, albeit a cat that can vanish from view and is able to make things turn inside out on a whim.

"Oh, I'm high as a kite, now," Kevin laughs. "I can see why people do this for fun!"

"I know, right?" Naomi agrees. "I mean, it has important business applications as well, but there's nothing wrong with mixing the two. Don't tell my Dad I said that, though. He takes this stuff super-seriously."

"Your secret is safe with me," Kevin promises.

At this point, Ozhen'ipleth hops up onto him, climbing onto his shoulder and then across onto Naomi.

"Awww, she really does like you," Naomi says, as the demon curls into a ball in her lap.

"…That's good to know," Kevin replies, very carefully. "The fear is normal though, right?"

"Given that she can make people go insane, blink from existence or turn inside out, I'd say so."

"As long as you're sure."

Naomi laughs. "Oh, we have got to do this again."

"Definitely!" Kevin agrees. "Partly so I can learn higher-level stuff, and partly because I can't remember the last time I had this much fun."

"Tell me about it," Naomi says. "And… I can just talk to you and you're not weird about it. Most people are, you know. Because of who my Dad is."

"I can imagine. And… OK, yes, I am sort of in awe of your father. But that doesn't have to affect how things are with us."

"…Wow, I actually have a normal friend."

"Are you calling me normal?"

"…I actually have a friend," Naomi corrects.

"Better."

"You want coffee? We could totally go get some. And then see if Lauren is home. And let Heni wind her up a bit."

"Oooh, that sounds like fun!"

One thing is sure. This is the start of an interesting friendship.

***

The weeks begin to pass; weeks that quickly blend into months.

Life is busy. Between his regular job on the radio, his training sessions with Terry and his increasingly frequent meet-ups with Naomi, Kevin is rarely bored. But that's fine, because it's important to be productive, and doubly-so if you can have a fabulous time doing it.

This particular afternoon, Kevin and Terry are coming to the end of another of their usual sessions. They still meet several times a week at the enforcer station closest to the radio studio, training for a few hours after Kevin is off air. It's exhilarating, especially now that Terry has picked up the pace, and Kevin looks forward to it every time.

Right now they're practicing blocking techniques, which are as important as offensive moves, albeit perhaps a little less fun. As they draw to a close, Terry relaxes, then regards Kevin with a strange expression on his face.

"That will do for today. Although… we should talk, before you go."

This takes Kevin by surprise. Terry is an excellent teacher, but he's not usually one for idle conversation. Which means whatever he has to say will be anything but idle.

"All right," Kevin replies, relaxing too and slipping his knife away.

Terry's eyes flick round the room, and Kevin can't help the strangest sense that the other man is deliberately checking the area, reassuring himself that they're alone.

It's odd.

"Kevin," Terry starts out, "it can't have escaped your awareness that Mr Hartley is more than a little interested in you. Your abilities, your dedication to the cause… he knows the strength of your loyalty. He knows what you could do for Strexcorp."

"I hope I live up to it," Kevin replies, which gets him an even stranger look from Terry before the man paces closer.

"At some point, perhaps sooner than you think, he's going to ask you to take my place. I've been in this game for a very long time and I know, now, that the end is approaching."

Kevin headtilts. "You're retiring?"

Terry looks away. "…Most likely," he says, although there's something in his tone that Kevin can't quite pin down. "And when I leave the game, one way or another, he'll come to you."

"I'm ready for that," Kevin tells him, trying to sound as confident as he can. "Not that I would ever want to usurp you, but when the time comes… I'm ready."

"I hope that you are," Terry replies, tone still strange and soft. "And…"

He trails off, eyes doing that weird little flick around the room again.

"…There's something else. He… Kevin, Mr Hartley is a very… _complicated_ man. And after you've taken my place, after a while, he… he may ask something else of you. Something that… will take you by surprise."

"What is it?" Kevin asks.

Terry shakes his head. "It doesn't matter now. You'll find out if… when… the time comes. Just… be careful, OK? Think things through before you act. You're a smart man, but sometimes your loyalty to the company is… well. Just remember what I said."

Kevin nods, although right now he's not entirely sure what Terry _has_ just said. "I will," he promises.

Maybe it will all make sense in the end.

***

It's a few days later: another day that seems like all the others. A Tuesday, in fact. It starts so normally, with no indication that it has plans to be significant, lulling reality into a false sense of security until the crucial moment comes.

Kevin has just finished his show for the day and returned to his office to go over some listener statistics – who _doesn't_ love listener statistics? – when his hears his desk phone ring. He picks it up, balancing it on one ear so he can doodle on a post-it note whilst he's talking.

"Radio Desert Bluffs, Kevin here."

There's a female voice on the other end. "Please hold for Mr Hartley."

A pause and a click follow – before Kevin has time to respond – and, in a second, it's Derek Hartley's voice he hears. "Kevin, good, I'm glad I caught you."

"What do you need, sir?"

"You, in my office, as soon as possible. I have a little situation and I think you're the man for the job."

"I see. Then I'll be there as fast as I can."

"I knew I could count on you."

Well. Well, well, well. This is an interesting development. Interesting and gratifying, to say the least.

Kevin is out the door in moments.

***

When he gets to Strexcorp HQ, he's waved upstairs at once, and as soon as he makes it to the top floor, Andrew gestures him through.

"Go straight in. He's waiting for you."

There's an oddly serious look on the young PA's face, and Kevin can't help wondering why. He doesn't pause to ask, though, and instead steps into Derek Hartley's office. The man himself is waiting inside, standing at the window and staring out at the glittering city vista beyond, though he turns as soon as Kevin comes in.

"Ah, good, there you are. Kevin, I'll get right to the point. I have a situation and I need you to take care of it. Ordinarily, I'd send Terry, but he's… otherwise occupied this afternoon."

This alone is significant. Terry is Hartley's go-to guy. His _fixer_. Kevin knows that. So if he's being sent in the other man's place… well, that's got to be a good sign, right?

"I see. What is it you need, sir?"

Hartley smiles. "I should point out at once that this is a matter of some… sensitivity. What you may or may not yet know, Kevin, is that there are certain people who have… shall we say, less than appropriate respect for this great company and this incredible city. People who think their fringe views could somehow be superior to what the citizens of Desert Bluffs value. _Dissidents_ with no respect for the Strexcorp ethos."

"I… have heard rumours, yes," Kevin replies. Only once or twice, of course, but he's heard them. He doesn't quite understand how anyone could feel anything except love and adoration for their wonderful town and their equally wonderful employers, but apparently there is a minority who don't. And that's alarming.

"Incidents involving these dissidents are infrequent, of course," Hartley goes on. "However, I have recently been informed that a small group of soon-to-be-former employees have seized control of an office and storage warehouse just outside the centre of town. They're holding three still-loyal employees hostage and are, at this very moment, preparing to take action against Strexcorp. Against Desert Bluffs. Against _us_."

"I see." Kevin understands now where this is going. Why this would normally be a situation for Terry to deal with. Why… it's instead fallen into his own hands. But more than that, he understands that this is what he's been training for… and that he's ready for it. "And you want these dissidents taking care of?"

Hartley nods, smile unfading. "Yes, Kevin, I do."

"I only have one question."

"Which is?"

"Do you need any of them alive at the end?"

Hartley's smile brightens all the more. "No. They have betrayed Strexcorp. I have no further use for any of them."

Kevin nods. "Understood."

"Excellent. Andrew will give you the location. Report in as soon as it's done."

And as he heads out, Kevin can feel Hartley's gaze on his back. Can feel the weight of what he's just agreed to do. This is it. This is his big chance. And the strange thing is, he isn't nervous. Isn't scared. Isn't alarmed by what he might be walking into.

No. He's excited.

This is it.

***

The place in question – a small, three-storey office connected to a storage warehouse – stands unobtrusive and uninteresting, just outside the city centre. Kevin pauses to look at it from a block away, under the cover of a pair of trees, contemplating his next move.

He needs to get inside. He doubts, however, that walking up to the front door and knocking politely is going to cut it in this situation, much as it should. This being the case, the adjoining warehouse is probably his best option. It has a number of large, high windows, one of which is missing a pane, and it likely won't take much to climb up to it. Of course, he won't be able to get a good look at whatever's on the other side until he's in the thick of it… but that's a chance he'll have to take.

Besides… this is going to be easy. He can feel it.

There isn't much in the way of cover between here and there, so he walks unobtrusively, idly, as if he's just passing through and barely giving anything much attention. He is, though. He's giving _everything_ a great deal of attention, watching carefully for any sign of movement whilst still trying to seem as though he couldn't care less.

He makes it to the side of the warehouse and quickly climbs up to the open window, managing to pause just a second to get a look through it before he's forced to give in to momentum and swing himself inside.

But there's no one around. The warehouse is wide and high, filled with large wooden crates arranged into aisles. Pausing in the cover of the nearest, Kevin allows himself a moment to think, drawing his knife as he does.

He has his own, now. It was a gift from Terry several weeks back, and Kevin has hardly been without it since. The only person who has been at all negative about this is Daniel, but seeing as Daniel is negative about _everything_ where Kevin is concerned, he hasn't let this bother him.

It's such a beautiful weapon, too; sleek and slender, like Terry's own, with a narrow hilt and a long blade, and the balance is just to _die_ for.

Kevin can't help a smile at this. Life is nothing if not the opportunity for the occasional pun, even if no one else is around to enjoy it.

He hears movement. It's coming from the far end of the warehouse, at the point where it connects to the office building. Cautiously, keeping to the cover of the row of crates, Kevin starts to move closer, and closer, until…

He sees them now: two men in the open warehouse doorway, and pauses a second to catch a few words.

"…we should be making statements. Issuing demands. Otherwise no one will know!"

"We don't _want_ anyone to know yet. Otherwise we'll have troupes of enforcers descending on the place, and probably another one of Hartley's knife-wielding maniacs to boot."

"I know, I know, I just have a very bad feeling about this…"

"Smiling God, did you have to jinx it like that?! Never say 'I have a very bad feeling about this'! The guy who has a very bad feeling about this is usually the first to–"

It's at this point that Kevin, in the service of both Strexcorp and the colloquial use of the word 'irony', decides to vault out of cover and drive his knife squarely into the closer of the two men. It's so quick, so _easy_ , that he doesn't even have to think about it. He just _acts_.

The second man, naturally, chooses this point to _re_ act, drawing a blade of his own and going for Kevin at once. His timing is all wrong, though, and he really needs to work on his balance, and it doesn't take much for Kevin to flip the guy to the floor beside his already-dead comrade and stab him too.

Twice. Just in case.

And then, Kevin rises to his feet, already streaked with blood, a grin coming unbidden to his lips.

Smiling God, this feels _good_.

He moves on, heading into the office block. There's far less cover in here, but he has the benefit of there being multiple rooms. Plus, he doesn't need cover. He wants them to see him coming.

They've betrayed Strexcorp. He wants them to _know_ what happens next.

Two more people go down, in quick succession, as he heads deeper into the building. The second manages to shout several times, though, and Kevin knows others will have heard. Knows they'll be expecting him now.

Another person comes at him, a particularly tall man who clearly knows what he's doing with the knife in his hand. He and Kevin circle for a moment before launching at each other, blades clashing together.

"Hartley send you?" the man growls, in the midst of it all.

"That's right."

"Haven't seen you before."

"I'm new."

"I don't think you're going to last."

"I beg to differ."

And, as added proof, Kevin chooses this moment to sidestep, throwing the other man off balance and making it much easier to barrel him to the floor and remove him from the equation.

As he does, however, Kevin becomes aware of a rather violent-sounding commotion emanating from the next room. He pulls his knife free and rises to his feet seconds before the door bursts open and a pair of grappling figures tumble through it: a man and a woman.

This is unexpected. The two people are clearly fighting, but Kevin has no way of knowing where their loyalties lie, and if either of them is something other than a target. So he waits, fully ready to take on the victor if necessary.

It doesn't take long. Though the woman is smaller and slighter than the man, she rapidly has the upper hand and within seconds has thrown both of them to the floor, driving a knife into her opponent with a shriek of triumph. As the man slumps back, the woman tugs her blade free and stands, instantly transferring her attention to Kevin and – perhaps importantly – to the man lying dead at his feet.

"…You're not one of them," the woman says, giving him a narrowed, careful look.

"That's right. And neither are you, if I'm reading this situation correctly."

"Very good." The woman takes a step closer, though keeps her blade held at her side. "Hartley send you?"

Kevin nods. "Yes. And am I right in thinking up until recently you were one of the hostages?"

Now the woman nods. "I was. There were three of us. The other two didn't make it off the second floor. Did my best, but… I couldn't get them out. So I figured I'd make these guys pay for what they did."

"Seems to me you're doing well with that. I assume you don't need rescuing."

"Do I look like I need rescuing?"

"Not in the slightest. You do look like you might want to help me take out the rest of the dissidents in this building, though."

The woman headtilts. "That what we're calling them now? And sure. I could do that." She grins, seeming to relax a little. "I'm Darla."

"Kevin."

"I knew that voice was familiar! You're the guy on the radio."

"That's right."

"And you're working for Hartley on the side?"

"Well, I work for him anyway. We all do. But I know what you mean, and yes, I am."

Darla grins some more. "Up until this morning, I worked right here in this building. Guess if I survive this, I'm getting transferred."

"You're going to survive this," Kevin tells her, the confidence coming unbidden and easy. "We both are. I think you can count on the transfer, though. What do you do, anyway?"

"Accountancy."

"Oh. Do you like it?"

"Hate it. Pays the bills, though. And what I really want to do _doesn't_."

"What do you really want to do?"

Darla shrugs. "I'm a necromancer."

This gets Kevin's attention. "You're a _necromancer_. As in, _death magic_?"

"Yep."

"You any good at it?"

"I'm _very_ good at it. I'm licensed, too, before you worry."

Kevin looks at Darla, then at the bodies on the ground. And then, he looks at Darla again, unable to hold back a smile. "You want to make this a bit more interesting?"

Darla mirrors his expression. "You give me five minutes and kill anyone who tries to get in here whilst I'm working and yes, I think this could become _very_ interesting."

She's not wrong.

***

The ritual is fascinating to watch. A little too squishy for Kevin's taste, but fascinating nonetheless. Rather more fascinating is the response they get as they move through the building with a pair of – for want of a better term – re-animated corpses fighting alongside them.

Darla is nothing if not creative. And she herself fights with a rather unique flair – untrained, perhaps, but most assuredly skilled. Between them – and their co-opted allies – they cut their way through all three floors of the building, taking down everyone who comes at them, right to the last person.

It's exhilarating. As the final dissident falls, Kevin is almost sorry it's over. He watches as Darla de-animates their surviving follower – the other having been taken out on the way up here – and then stands in the top office, reflecting on all of this. Other than having lost two of the hostages – which happened before he got to them – this couldn't have gone better. And, most crucially, all of the dissidents have been taken out.

"I need to get back to headquarters and report in," Kevin tells Darla, once she's done. "You should come with me. You played a big role in this and I'm sure Mr Hartley will want to thank you himself."

Darla seems a little surprised by this, but nods. "All right. Give me a few minutes to see to the other two, though? I know Strex will send people over, but…"

It's the first time she's displayed any real emotion over the loss of the other hostages, and Kevin can't help feeling she's been repressing it up until now, to get the job done. He nods. "I understand. I'll be here when you're ready."

She gives him a grateful smile and heads off.

As he's waiting, Kevin realises there's a small side-office he hasn't been in. He very much doubts there's anyone left alive in there, but moves cautiously nonetheless. Stepping inside, he finds the room empty of people and, indeed, furniture. But what it does contain is an entire wall covered in pictures and notes and photographs, many of them connected by pieces of string.

A crazy-wall. Now this is unexpected. And given the time needed to construct it, he very much suspects at least one of the dissidents must have worked in this office prior to it being seized. The wall itself shows all sorts of snippets of intel, a large amount concerned with the building, but some connected to other parts of town.

And it's all centred around…

Kevin stares. In the centre of the wall, with several circles drawn around it and various pieces of string connecting it to other things, is a picture of the Bloodstone: the huge, deep-red crystal that has stood at the heart of Desert Bluffs for decades. It's a local treasure. One of the most important features of the city. A captivating sight, no matter the situation.

And scrawled beneath it are the words _'Destroy at all costs'_.

Destroy? Destroy the Bloodstone? Who could ever want to destroy the Bloodstone?

Who could..?

At the back of his mind, just for a second, Kevin can hear a soft song: a song that's always there, but rarely processed consciously. A song that sounds like the whispers of angels…

"Kevin?"

The sound of his name makes him jump and turn, to see Darla standing in the doorway.

"Whoa," she says, taking in the sight of the wall. "Huh. Didn't expect that!"

"Me neither," Kevin admits. "I'll make sure Strex sends someone to look at it. Just in case there's any other important intel in here."

"Sounds like a good idea. Shall we get going?"

"Yes. Yes. We should."

And they go, with the distant echoes of a song trailing in their wake.


	4. Apotera

**Apotera**

_Both_

***

When they make it back to Strexcorp HQ, streaked with blood and – to be fair – both looking as high as kites, the young man at the reception desk practically swoons.

"Mr Hartley is expecting you," he tells Kevin. "And the young lady..?"

"Is with me," Kevin replies. "Mr Hartley will want to see her as well."

"Of course, of course," the receptionist says, and immediately waves over a pair of enforcers to escort them to the top floor.

Andrew looks a little stunned as they walk in. "OK, that was fast," he says, giving Kevin a very approving smile.

Kevin gives a modest shrug. "It wasn't difficult. Plus, I had help."

"So I see. And you would be..?"

"Darla. Darla Kelsey."

"Ah yes, one of the hostages. In that case, you can both go straight in."

So they do: Kevin leading the way, and Darla following on behind. It's the only time so far he's seen her display any kind of apprehension, though he fully understands why.

"Kevin," Derek Hartley exclaims, rising from his desk in surprise as they enter. "I didn't expect you back so soon. I assume you have good news?"

"I do, sir. The situation is dealt with. The dissidents will not be causing Strexcorp any more trouble."

Hartley claps his hands together. "Bravo. Now that _is_ good news. I'll have Andrew send a cleanup crew over to deal with the building."

A cleanup crew? They have cleanup crews for this sort of thing? Kevin supposes they must. "They should pay careful attention to a room on the top floor," he says, ignoring the soft echoes of distant song at the back of his mind. "Looked like some kind of larger plan, arranged in full crazy-wall style."

This gets him a little laugh. "Crazy-wall? It must be coming back in vogue. I'll make sure they know about it. Now, Kevin, who have you brought with you..?"

"Oh, my apologies: Mr Hartley, this is Darla Kelsey. Darla… Derek Hartley."

"It's an honour," she says, carefully, as Hartley shakes her hand.

"You were one of the hostages?"

"That's right. The only one left, I'm afraid."

"That is unfortunate. But I am glad to see one of you made it out alive."

"Darla was a valuable ally in there," Kevin says. "She fights well."

"Indeed? Then we will have to keep an eye on you, Miss Kelsey. Now… if I might have a word with Kevin alone?"

"Oh, of course," Darla says.

"Wait for me outside?" Kevin asks, looking over at her.

She grins. "You bet."

When they're alone, Hartley pauses a moment, regarding Kevin with his head on one side. "Well, Kevin, I must say: I'm impressed. I knew I could count on you and of course I enjoy being right, but what I enjoy even more is seeing one of my _favourite_ employees achieve their potential."

The words are music to Kevin's ears, and it's hard to stop himself smiling too much. "I'm just glad to have served Strexcorp," he answers. "It was… easier than I expected. Terry taught me well."

"That much is obvious," Hartley replies. "He always spoke very highly of you."

Kevin catches the use of the past tense at once, and his expression turns sombre. "…Something happened to him." It isn't a question, and yet he's hoping for an answer.

Hartley nods. "I'm afraid so. I didn't want to tell you earlier. I didn't want it hanging over you when you were out there. But… Kevin, I'm sorry to say that Terry was killed yesterday afternoon."

The words sting. Kevin drops his head for a moment. "What happened?" he asks, softly. "He… Those dissidents you sent me after were an offshoot, weren't they? Of a larger group?"

It makes sense. The people themselves had an amateurish edge, but the organisation, and that wall of plans… that implies something rather more.

"Quite right," Hartley replies. "For several weeks now, Terry has been investigating – and dealing with – pockets of a dissident cell active within the city. Yesterday he moved against what we believed to be their main base of operations. He took most of them out – the leader included – but was killed in the process. Intelligence gathered by one of my personal enforcer teams suggests that the group I sent you after were a small secondary cell activated in the event of their leader's death."

"Hence the crazy-wall. And their lack of finesse." It's impossible for Kevin to keep a hint of bitterness out of his tone as he speaks: pain at the loss of a man he counted as both mentor and friend.

"Indeed," Hartley concurs. "I suspect we have not seen the last of this group, though I'm sure that, between you, you and Terry have made a significant dent in their operations. There is more to this, though. You know Terry was very important to me. My fixer. The man on whom I could always rely to get things done. His death is not just a personal loss: it is a sleight against Strexcorp. I can only thank the Smiling God that, between us, he and I found and prepared someone to take his place."

Kevin tries to keep his expression level as he says, "…You mean me?"

Hartley nods, bright blue eyes fixed on his employee. "I mean you. Your value was evident from the beginning, and this afternoon you more than proved it. I want you to take Terry's place, Kevin. I want you to become the one I rely on."

"Whatever you need, sir. It is an honour to serve Strexcorp."

And you.

"Excellent." Hartley turns back to his desk, picking something up and handing it to Kevin. It's a cellphone. They're really coming into vogue and he's been thinking of getting one for a while. "This is for you, so I can get hold of you directly. No more going through subordinates. You report directly to me. You'll have top-level security access. And we had better get that daughter of mine to teach you to summon more than just eighth-plane imps, because sooner or later you're going to need to know how."

This is a lot to take in. Kevin nods. "Understood. And thank you. I won't let you down."

"I know you won't. And you simply must come to the house for dinner this weekend. I know the girls are very fond of you."

"I'd be delighted."

"Wonderful. Then I will see you then."

Kevin knows, as he steps out of the office, that he's in something of a daze. He can't quite believe what's just happened: both the news of Terry's death, which is terrible, and the news of his own promotion. Which is… amazing.

"…I take it that went well?" Darla asks. She's waiting next to the elevator doors, as she promised, leaning on the wall and grinning.

"…Yeah, for the most part. Except that a good friend of mine is dead."

"I'm sorry. Was it because of the guys we took out?"

"Yes."

"Now aren't you even more glad I re-animated two of them and set them on their former allies?"

"Immensely." Despite it having been more than a little creepy. "So, Darla, can I buy you a cup of coffee?"

This gets him an odd look. "Yes. So long as we are in agreement that it is entirely _platonic_ coffee."

"It is absolutely entirely platonic coffee."

"Then yes," Darla agrees, as they step into the lift. And, once the doors have closed, she adds, "And then you can tell me how you ended up as best buddies with the leader of Strexcorp."

"We're hardly best buddies."

"Kevin, if a man looked at _me_ like that, I'd be searching for a good opportunity to kneecap him."

"…Which means?"

"You'll work it out."

***

The weekend eventually arrives and – as per Mr Hartley's invitation – Kevin heads up to the house on the Saturday evening, to join the family for dinner. An enforcer greets him at the door, but he's barely stepped into the hallway before Naomi emerges from the living room and hurries over.

"You made it! Thank the Smiling God. I need someone to save me from Lauren."

Kevin grins. "Oh?"

"I can totally hear you!" comes Lauren's voice from the living room, though she doesn't seem to be in any rush to join them.

Naomi links arms with Kevin and walks him further away from the door. "She's insufferable. She just broke up with her boyfriend and she's spent the entire day trying to persuade Dad to have him killed."

"Mr Hartley wasn't amenable?"

"Nope," Naomi answers. "The boyfriend in question was Aidan Outteridge's son, Callum. And it's probably best Dad doesn't go around having the offspring of other management board members bumped off."

"Yeah, there's definitely some logic in that," Kevin agrees.

"Hence the mood. _Anyway_ , enough about Lauren, apparently we have you to thank for avenging Terry's death."

Kevin nods. "Yes. Though I didn't realise I was doing it until afterwards."

"Dad told us. I knew Terry nearly my whole life. So… you know, thanks."

"You're welcome."

Before Kevin can say any more, the doors to the dining room swing open and Susan Hartley steps out, resplendent in blue and gold. "Ah, Kevin, there you are. Do come and sit down. My husband's inside already. Now where is my eldest..?"

"I told you, Mom, I'm not coming!" Lauren calls from the living room, apparently still able to hear every word. "Not until he agrees to send enforcers after Callum."

"Young lady, this is not how we deal with our problems!" Susan exclaims, stalking off in the direction of the living room.

Naomi rolls her eyes and directs Kevin into the dining room to spare them both from the inevitable mother-daughter discussion.

Derek Hartley is sitting at the table with a glass of something red, though he rises to his feet as they come in, that ever-present smile in place. "Ah, there's my new secret weapon," he says. "I told the girls all about what you did earlier in the week. What you did for Strexcorp and for this family. They were understandably impressed."

"I'm happy to help," Kevin replies. "And the company-approved account did make an excellent segment for my radio show."

"Indeed it did," Hartley agrees. "I particularly enjoyed that one. Well, do have a seat. I'm sure Susan and Lauren won't be long. Lauren's having a rather rough day, if truth be told. She's single again. Had something of a falling out with Callum Outteridge and… oh, I'm sure you know how these things go."

There's an odd look in the other man's eyes at this, and Kevin can't help feeling that Hartley isn't exactly unhappy about the breakup between his eldest and her now-ex.

"They always go the same way, where Lauren's concerned," Naomi mutters, as she and Kevin take their seats at the table; Hartley re-taking his at the head. Her father glances at her when she speaks, but doesn't respond.

At this point, Susan comes pacing into the room, with Lauren trailing sullenly in her wake. Lauren does seem to perk up a little when she sees Kevin, and she takes her seat opposite him with a trace of a smile. It's an expression that makes Naomi roll her eyes, although she – perhaps wisely – doesn't comment out loud.

The dinner itself goes well enough. The discussion is predominately small talk, but Kevin is becoming aware that the family is getting more and more relaxed around him, and he very much doubts they'd be this way with just anyone. Which is… actually really very nice. Kevin doesn't have much family of his own – his parents are both dead so it's just him and his younger sister, Kirsten, who is currently at college – and finding himself suddenly drawn in by the Hartleys… It's really very nice.

He is starting to worry a little about Lauren, though. She becomes extremely friendly around him – which is fine – and yes, OK, she works in Strexcorp's media wing so they do have plenty in common, but…

…But he's starting to worry she has a crush on him. And though that's very flattering, of course… he doesn't feel the same way. On account of the only-into-guys thing.

Or what Naomi, when the two of them are alone, refers to the _blatantly-gayer-than-a-treeful-of-rainbow-monkeys-on-nitrous_ thing, albeit to describe herself just as much as Kevin. So precisely why Lauren appears to have missed this whole part, Kevin isn't quite sure.

"Come take a walk with me?" Lauren asks him, after dinner, which makes Naomi roll her eyes again whilst no one but Kevin is looking.

"Uh… sure," Kevin agrees. He can't deny that Lauren is good company, especially when she's stopped going on about wanting her former boyfriend bumped off, but he can't shake the concern that this is going to go horribly wrong sooner rather than later.

"Watch out for the bryzyline!" Naomi calls, brightly.

Kevin looks at Lauren as she directs them smoothly out into the entrance hall. "What's a bryzyline?" he has to ask.

Lauren gives a little shrug. "It's a minor demon from the Fourth Infernal Plane. Dad summoned it earlier. He usually does all his summoning in the big hall at the back where you and Naomi spend so much time, but you have to summon bryzylines under open sky or it doesn't work. So he did it on the south lawn."

"I see," Kevin manages, pleasantly. "Why did Mr Hartley summon it in the first place?"

Lauren shrugs again. "He says it was for fun. Personally I think he's trying to keep the enforcers on their toes. He does like random, unplanned training events."

"Don't we all?"

"Exactly!" Lauren tightens her grip on his arm, leading the way out the front door and onto the main drive. The sun has just about finished setting, but the air is still warm and pleasant and it is – truth be told – an excellent time for a stroll. The stars are coming out overhead, glittering in the indigo sky, writing their eternal mysteries across the growing darkness.

"You and Naomi seem to have gotten _very_ close," Lauren says, apropos of nothing.

"She's been teaching me summoning," Kevin replies. "It's a lot of fun. Plus she's very good at it."

He can feel the way this makes Lauren react, but she doesn't say anything for a moment. "…You know my sister's not into guys?" she asks, finally.

"Uh… yeah, of course," Kevin answers, as if this was obvious. "She told me the night we met. Well, I guessed and she confirmed it." He looks sideways at his companion, who is watching him as they walk, blue eyes flashing unnaturally in the darkness. "I'm not pursuing her, you know," he adds. "I mean, we're friends – good friends, I think – but no more than that. On account of the gay thing."

He wonders if Lauren will take the hint, but suspects she still thinks he's only talking about Naomi.

"And then there's you," Lauren goes on, rapidly proving him right. "One of Strexcorp's rising stars and _definitely_ Dad's new favourite. Plus Radio Desert Bluffs has never been more popular – and I've got the quarterly reports to prove it. You're quite the go-getter, Kevin. Hot property." She pauses, giving him a deliberate look up and down. " _Really_ hot."

"…Didn't you _just_ break up with your previous boyfriend this afternoon?" Kevin says, realising as he does that this is not going to help.

"Sure I did," Lauren answers, sidling closer. "But it was on the cards for a while. He wasn't right. Wasn't up to scratch." A pause. "Wasn't you."

Kevin looks away. He really wishes it didn't have to come to this. Really wishes Lauren had just taken the swathe of very obvious hints. But… no. "Lauren… I'm flattered – really, I am – but… you do realise I'm not into girls?"

Lauren stares at him. "…Wait, what?"

"I'm not into girls."

"…Not at all?"

"Not even a little bit, no."

"Oh. I… not even me?"

"I'm afraid not. Not like that. I mean, I value you as a friend and colleague, but…"

"Oh." Lauren lets go of him and takes a step back. " _Seriously?_ "

"Seriously."

 _Wow_ , this is awkward. Kevin tries to work out what he can say to make this any better, but his usually-sharp mind is very much drawing a blank right now.

It's at this point that there's a sudden roar, and a dark shadow leaps over them, landing on the ground close by and circling to stare in their direction, three red eyes shining in the darkness.

"…Smiling God, what _is_ that?!" Kevin exclaims, drawing his knife without even needing to think about it.

"It's the darned bryzyline!" Lauren replies, sounding more annoyed than afraid. "And its timing could not be worse!"

Kevin can't help thinking that the creature's timing was near-perfect, all things considered, but he refrains from saying so. "Are you armed?" he asks, instead, as the creature starts to circle them, growling softly. He can't see it well in the low-lighting, but it's about the size of a small tiger and seems just as unfriendly. The glowing eyes, twin tails and tentacled mane do nothing to alleviate this, either.

"In this dress?!" Lauren hisses back. "Where exactly do you think I'd find room for a knife?"

"That doesn't seem to bother Naomi."

"Well, maybe you should've brought _her!_ "

"…Just stay behind me," Kevin manages, resisting the urge to rise to Lauren's baiting and instead concentrating on the otherworldly creature that is clearly preparing to strike. And Lauren, for her part, doesn't hesitate to take the hint this time, moving in to stand at his back.

The bryzyline gives a low roar, bearing almost-luminescent teeth at them, and starting to pad closer as it picks up speed. Kevin brandishes his knife at it, aware on some level that he has no idea if this will even help, swiping the blade upwards as the creature vaults over them, landing a little way off and starting to circle again.

"I think it's toying with us," Kevin says, turning to keep the bryzyline in his line of sight, and also to keep himself in front of Lauren. "Do you have any idea how to deal with these things?"

"Not exactly," Lauren replies, with a definite tremor in her voice. "I mean, I usually have people for that!"

"Well, right now you only have me, and I've never seen one of these things before. But if it gets close enough, I'm going to see if stabbing works."

"It will probably just make it mad," Lauren says. "It's a demon. Humans can't kill demons on this plane. Not without an extra-planar weapon, at least."

"Then we're in a lot of trouble!" Kevin has to point out, as the creature charges at them. And unkillable the thing may be, but that doesn't stop Kevin swiping at it with his blade again. He makes contact this time, feeling the metal rake over what seems like a cross between scales and fur, and gets a howl of shock from the bryzyline in response.

"You see?!" Lauren shrieks, now pretty much clinging on to him. "Now it's mad!"

"I'm doing my best!" Kevin throws back. "Besides, don't you have a soul-bound demon? Why don't you summon it?"

"Because unlike the rest of my family, I prefer to solve problems myself!" Lauren retorts.

"Solve this one, then!"

Before Lauren can reply, the bryzyline leaps at them and – this time – bowls them both to the ground. Kevin can feel the creature's hot breath against his face as he stabs upwards, desperately trying to throw it off before it can sink claws into him, or into Lauren, who he's fallen more or less on top of. The bryzyline howls again as the blade is driven into it, shuddering in shock and backing off to circle them some more.

Well. He might not be able to kill it, but he can clearly still hurt it. Kevin scrambles to his feet and tugs Lauren upright too, keeping her behind him.

The creature paws at the ground, bearing its teeth. "Not good," Kevin murmurs. "Not good, not good, not…"

The bryzyline charges. Kevin raises his knife, braced for what's coming. And then… then there's a burst of deep-red light, which blazes up between them and the creature, stopping it in its tracks.

A little stunned, Kevin looks around, in time to see Susan Hartley come striding towards them, hand held out, eyes seeming to glow in the darkness. She chants something in a language even Kevin can't identify: something that makes the red light spiral around and around the bryzyline, over and over until it seems to implode inwards… taking the creature with it.

Silence. Darkness. Susan lowers her hand, everything about her back to normal. Or, seeming normal, at least. "I really must apologise," she says, looking at Kevin. "My husband needs to be more careful with his summonings when we have guests."

"…What did you do to it?" Kevin manages, still standing with his knife held out and Lauren pressed tightly against his back.

Susan shrugs. "I banished it. It's extraordinarily difficult to do, but I've had some practice."

"I… well… thank you," Kevin says, slowly starting to relax, and realising that, if nothing else, he should definitely lower the knife.

"You're welcome," Susan tells him, pleasantly. "I think maybe the two of you should come back inside," she adds, with a rather pointed look at Lauren.

For once, Lauren doesn't argue, and allows her mother to shepherd them both in the direction of the house once more, not speaking until they're indoors.

"…Told you to watch out for the bryzyline," Naomi says, having evidently come to see what all the fuss was about. She catches Kevin's eye and grins.

"You could have pointed out that the darned thing was unkillable, though!" Kevin replies.

Naomi shrugs. "Only on this plane. And only–"

"…I really must apologise," Derek Hartley interrupts, pacing smoothly in from the living room. "I do like to keep my enforcers on their toes. I thought they would have dealt with the creature by now. We will have to have words in the morning…"

His eyes flick between Kevin and Lauren, who are still standing very close together, neither having quite recovered from the incident yet. He seems to consider them for a moment, and then smiles, seemingly to himself.

"Kevin was _super_ -impressive, though," Lauren gushes.

Finally slipping his knife away again, Kevin tries to look modest, and _not_ like being attacked by an unkillable demon was an excellent distraction given the circumstances. "It's why your dad keeps me around," he says to her.

"It's one reason," Hartley agrees, with an odd flicker in his eyes. "Now, come along, my boy, I think perhaps you need a strong drink."

He's not wrong. Though what Kevin really needs, he suspects he's now not going to get any time soon.

This whole situation just got a lot more complicated.

***

Complicated it may be, but at least things stay quiet for the next couple of months. Or, they do at least where Lauren is concerned. Another dissident group makes itself known, and Kevin finds himself being sent after them, which is his first big chance to prove – to himself as much as to Hartley – that he's ready to take Terry's place.

He still misses the man. It's fuel for the fire inside as he takes on the new group of dissidents, and he feels almost high by the time he staggers back to Strexcorp HQ – bloodied and exhilarated – to report his success.

Soon after, the announcement comes through that the Hartleys are throwing another big party for their top employees. Kevin's invitation appears very rapidly, and he's a little surprised to see that, this time, he has a plus one.

Is there a reason behind it? Or is it just standard for this particular party?

He isn't sure. But he doesn't _have_ a plus one, so the point is pretty much moot. Except… then the idea dawns. It's been simmering away at the back of his mind for a while now, and this is the perfect opportunity to try it.

Two nights before the party, he calls Darla.

"Oh, hey you," she says, as she answers the phone. "How's things?" They've met up a number of times since the incident at the accounting office, and they're striking up quite a friendship.

"Just great!" Kevin enthuses. "The show has its biggest-ever audience share and the media wing is talking about expanding the studio. And… OK, I sort of have something to ask you."

"Shoot," Darla replies.

"OK, so, the Hartleys are throwing another of their big parties on Friday," Kevin tells her. "I'm invited again – not really a surprise given all the extra work I'm doing for Mr Hartley now – only this time I sort of have a plus one."

There's an odd little silence. "…You remember the part where I'm gay, yes?"

Kevin can't help feeling that he's destined to be trapped in various versions of this conversation forever. "Yes, Darla, of course I do. You explained it at length over coffee the same day we met. You remember the part where I am too, right?"

"Yep. So why're you asking me on a date?"

"I'm not. I'm asking if you want to come along as my totally platonic friend, so you get to experience one of the biggest events in the Desert Bluffs social calendar. And… also…"

"…What are you up to?" Darla pushes.

"…I sort of want you to meet someone," Kevin admits, quickly. "Don't overreact and raise the dead, it's not… I'm not setting you up, per se. But… I just think I know someone you'd probably like."

"So you _are_ asking me on a date. Just not a date with you." A pause. "It's a girl, right?"

"Of course. And she doesn't know anything yet so… so you can say no if you like."

"I don't do blind dates, Kevin."

"Just this once?" he presses, in his most ingratiating tone. "I'll bet you any money you like that you two hit it off."

Another pause. "All right. Fine. One chance. But if this goes poorly, you have to promise never to do it again." A beat. "And you have to take me out to that place with the mini chocolate muffins to make up."

Kevin smiles. "Deal."

"OK, then. What should I wear?"

"Something completely fabulous."

"I think I can manage that…"

***

Friday rolls around: another sun-drenched day of warmth and productivity. Kevin does his show, as usual, and he can't keep from gushing about how excited he is about the party.

Daniel is, of course, thoroughly unimpressed, although Kevin also suspects his producer is put-out over not having been invited again. He sits in the booth and scowls all the way through the broadcast, which just makes Kevin try even harder to get the man to crack a smile. Or just glower a bit less.

But, in that respect, he has no luck.

"Rumour is you're Hartley's fixer now," Daniel drawls at him, in the tone of a person trying to sound idle but not quite pulling it off.

"I guess I am," Kevin replies. Technically he has been for a few months, and he knows that Mr Hartley referred to Terry as his fixer all the time. But no one has actually called Kevin himself by the title yet.

It's… odd. Though at the same time it makes him walk a little taller, proud of the extra efforts he's going to for the company. For Strexcorp.

For Derek Hartley.

"Hmph," Daniel says, noncommittally. "Apparently you had something to do with that incident over at the New Town Logistics office the other week."

Kevin knows he's not supposed to talk about it with other people. And OK, yes, he's told Darla some things, and he reasons it's probably fine to tell Naomi, but for the most part… he has to be aloof about it all.

He sort of likes that too. It's a pleasing counterpoint to his radio persona.

"I can neither confirm nor deny anything," he answers, which makes Daniel scowl all the more. "I do, however, believe that dealing with people who act counter to the needs of the business should always be a priority."

This gets him something of a snort from Daniel. "Wow, you really _have_ gone off the deep end," the other man murmurs. "It'd be funny if I didn't have to work with you every day."

Kevin claps a hand to his own chest. "I really wish I knew why you don't like me."

"I really wish you knew, too," Daniel says, shortly. "Run along, now. You have high society to mingle with. And probably kill selective members of."

"Oh, I'm not killing anyone tonight," Kevin tells him, brightly. Deliberately.

Daniel just keeps scowling until Kevin leaves the building.

***

By the time Kevin and Darla make it to the party, it's already in full-swing.

This is deliberate too. On some occasions one simply _has_ to be fashionably late, and this is most definitely among those occasions.

Darla looks jaw-droppingly fabulous in a deep crimson party dress, and even lets Kevin be suitably complimentary about it, whereas normally doing so would get him threats to his life at best. Quite a few heads turn as they walk in – this having been a key part of the plan – although Kevin has to hope he finds the person they're looking for before they run into Lauren, or he's going to have a whole new set of awkward questions to answer.

"So go on, then," Darla says, as they move smoothly through the crowd. "Who exactly are you trying to set me up with?"

"I told you, it's a surprise," Kevin answers, grinning. "But you'll like her, trust me."

Darla doesn't look convinced, but she doesn't change her mind, either. They step through into the dining room where the bulk of the guests are mingling, and Kevin surveys the crowd, looking around for…

Aha.

Naomi Hartley is standing close to the fireplace, idly talking to a man and a woman that Kevin doesn't recognise. They drift off as he approaches, though, leaving the way clear and – indeed – Naomi spots him a second later, eyes taking in the woman on his arm and surprise immediately crossing her face.

Kevin grins some more. This is going to be such fun.

"Kevin," Naomi says, "I wondered when you'd show up."

"I thought I'd be fashionably late," Kevin replies, easily. "It gives a better atmosphere for when my glorious plan comes to fruition."

Both women give him an odd look. "Your glorious plan?" Naomi repeats.

"Yes!" Kevin says, and turns to Darla. "Darla Kelsey, allow me to present… Naomi Hartley."

The flash of surprise on Darla's face is brief but priceless. "It's a pleasure," she says, in her most sane and sensible tone – which is in itself proof that she's making quite an effort.

Naomi smiles, genuinely enough, and then gives Kevin a quizzical glance, the pieces slowly falling into place in her mind. "This is a set-up, isn't it?" she asks.

"Yep!" Kevin tells her, happily. "You two have needed to meet for weeks! Darla, Naomi is the best summoner I've ever seen and she enjoys being unconventional. And Naomi, Darla can more than hold her own in a fight and she also raises the dead in her spare time. Also both of you are completely awesome and amazing and if we weren't all gay as rainbows then I would totally hit that. But we are, so the two of you need to get acquainted as soon as possible."

Both women stare at him for a long moment, and then Darla punches him lightly on the arm. "How are you this weird?"

"It's a gift!" Kevin says. "Now, shoo, go talk to each other!"

Naomi and Darla consider this, and then they meet eyes and seem to agree. "Why not?" Naomi replies, and – to Kevin's delight – the two women wander off through the crowd together, immediately starting up a conversation.

This is just perfect! Beaming from ear to ear, he watches them go, and then makes his way back towards the bar, getting himself a drink.

And then, glass in hand, he stands and flicks his eyes slowly over the crowd, taking in faces he recognises, and those he still doesn't. He's just about to go in search of someone to talk to when he feels his cellphone vibrate.

Kevin carries it with him always, so Mr Hartley can get in touch with him whenever he needs to, although he really didn't expect any calls or messages tonight. Surprised, he has another sip of his drink and then slips the phone out of his jacket pocket, looking at the screen.

It's a text. It reads: _'Living room. As soon as you can. DH.'_

This is definitely unexpected. If Mr Hartley wants to talk to him, why doesn't he just come over? No… if he's doing it like this, something must be going on.

And Kevin wants to know what. He downs the remains of his drink and heads off.

The doors into the main living room are guarded by a pair of enforcers, as the living room – like before – isn't part of the area being used for the party. The enforcers don't even blink as Kevin approaches, and they let him slip through without a word, which means either they've been told he's coming or – more likely – they've been told to let him go wherever he wants.

Derek Hartley is in the living room beyond, standing near the fireplace with a glass of something amber in one hand. He turns as Kevin walks in, finishing the last of his drink and setting the empty glass on the mantelpiece before he speaks.

"Ah, good, there you are."

"Here I am, sir. What do you need?"

This gets him an odd look as Hartley paces closer. "I have something I want you to do for me," he says. "Tonight. At the party. I would have told you sooner but certain pieces of information have only just come to light and I don't want to lose the opportunity."

Kevin nods. "Of course. Anything."

Hartley's odd look blends into a careful smile. "There is a middle-manager called Alan Sanderson here tonight. He works in Marketing but he's recently been seconded over to Logistics. I've had my eye on him for some time because enforcer intelligence suggests he's been having covert meetings with a number of people from the same dissident group you dealt with for me so efficiently the other week."

"I see."

"I didn't want to move against him until I was sure because he has otherwise been a loyal and effective employee, and because his job would provide a benign explanation for the meetings he's been having. However… earlier tonight, I received proof that Sanderson was at the New Town Logistics office mere hours before you went in, and that he left with several key file dossiers believed to contain information on other members of the dissident group. He has betrayed us, Kevin. Betrayed Strexcorp. Betrayed _me_."

"I understand," Kevin replies. "Do you need anything else from him?"

Hartley shakes his head, that smile still in place. "No. I have enforcers moving in to search his home and office, and if the dossiers aren't there then we will have to hold another round of HR re-training sessions for the entire Logistics division. As for Sanderson himself… I want him dead. Here. Tonight."

Kevin nods again. This… is different. He's taken out groups of people before, but he's never been sent to deal with just one person. Somehow, even though it should be easier, it sounds like more of a challenge. More personal. More… intimate.

"Consider it done," he answers.

Hartley's smile brightens. "I don't know what I'd do without you," he says, and he takes an orange file dossier from the mantelpiece, handing it to Kevin. "This is the person in question. I need it done quietly, without causing a scene."

Flipping the dossier open, Kevin finds himself faced with a photo of Alan Sanderson – an unremarkable man in a suit – and an employee summary. He scans over it for a moment, picking up on key details, but mostly sealing Sanderson's image into his mind.

He's done dissident cleanup, but this? This is assassination.

Why does it give him such a thrill?

"I'll report back when it's done," he says, handing the dossier to Hartley again.

"I look forward to it."

And from the expression on the other man's face, 'look forward' is an understatement.

***

Kevin slips out through the living room door and back into the party, immediately glancing around, eyes searching for his target. This is… this is strange. Exciting. Challenging. And also… something very different; something cool and detached. Something dark inside, coiled around him, urging him on.

He gives a little shiver, and then focuses again.

Knowing he needs to look unobtrusive, he makes his way over to the bar and orders another drink: just a tonic and lime, wanting to avoid further alcohol in order to keep his mind clear.

Then, glass in hand, he starts to pace slowly, calmly through the crowd, moving with enough intent that people will think he's going somewhere specific and leave him be, but not so much intent that they'll wonder what he's doing. The world seems to be shrinking down as he moves; conversations all softening to a dull hum as he scans the faces in the crowd.

At the back of his mind, he catches the distant echo of a song: a song like a chorus of angels singing softly, sweetly, and he could almost…

Everything snaps into sharp focus as he spots the man off to the right, near one of the sweeping bay windows in the huge dining room. It's Alan Sanderson, no doubt about it, talking to a pair of other men with the distinct air of someone who does not want to be disturbed.

Kevin is good at disturbing people. He is, first and foremost, a journalist and a radio presenter, so it's an important life skill to have.

"Well, good evening," he says, approaching them with an amiable smile and a little wave.

The three men look at him in surprise. One of the others recovers fastest and speaks before the silence becomes too drawn-out. "Don't I know you?"

"Most likely!" Kevin replies. "I'm Kevin, from the radio."

This seems to make them all relax rather noticeably. "Ah, of course," Sanderson says. "We often have your show on in the office. Is there something we can help you with?"

"Actually, yes," Kevin says, taking an idle sip of his drink. "I got your name from a lovely lady over in Marketing. Irena Falcone."

Sanderson's face registers the recognition, as Kevin knew it should, because Irena Falcone was listed in the dossier as Sanderson's direct supervisor. "Oh yes, I know Irena," he replies.

"Well, I spoke to her earlier today because I'm currently helping my producer put together a new ad campaign for the show," Kevin lies, so smoothly that he could pretty much believe himself. "She said you're currently working for Logistics, but that you are just _the_ person to talk to when it comes to this sort of thing."

Sanderson looks pleased with himself. This is far too easy. "I like to think so," he answers. "And I know how highly people speak of your show. I'm sure I can make the time to help out if Irena is on board with the idea."

"Absolutely," Kevin replies. "And actually… there's someone you should meet."

"Oh?"

Another sip of the drink. Time for the crucial part. "Yes. Someone who's going to be working very closely with the radio station over the next few months. We're not making it public just yet, but… the person in question is here tonight, and I was _so_ hoping you'd talk with us both. Just for a few minutes, of course. I wouldn't want to intrude too much on your evening. But… it would be a _big_ help."

The mystery of it all is clearly piquing Sanderson's curiosity. "I can spare a little time," he says, glancing at his two associates, who both give him a nod.

"Wonderful!" Kevin gushes. "Follow me."

And he turns, starting to make his way through the crowd with Sanderson following closely behind. They need to go somewhere quiet, and Kevin has been here often enough now to know just the place.

Enforcers are watching a door at the far end of the dining room. Kevin sets his glass on a nearby table and then calmly waves for Sanderson to stay with him.

"We can go through here?" the man asks.

"Of course," Kevin answers. "I arranged it. So we can speak with my associate away from watchful eyes."

The enforcers, like their colleagues at the other end of the party, let Kevin through without a word – and without questioning the man accompanying him – allowing the two of them to step through the door and into the hallway beyond. It's instantly much quieter; the thrum of the party now just a dull hum as they move further away, up a broad flight of white stone stairs and towards a mezzanine where Kevin knows there's an excellent view of the south lawn.

Most of the lights are off, but the whole area is bathed in the glow of moonlight, glittering on the pale floor and walls. Sanderson looks around, a flicker of surprise crossing his face.

"There's no one else here," he points out.

"Oh, he'll be along in a minute, don't worry," Kevin replies. "I said I'd meet him out here but I didn't know how quickly I'd find you, so he might still be lingering with the rest of his group."

It's so easy to say it all. So easy to just let the lies slip out, intertwining into a simple but convincing story.

Sanderson isn't even going to see it coming. Kevin realises that now.

And indeed, seeming to accept the explanation, Sanderson paces slowly up the stairway, standing on the mezzanine balcony and looking out at the view. It really is quite lovely, the way the moon glitters on the blood-streaked lawn, making the row of statues cast long, angular shadows on the grass.

"This is quite a place, isn't it?" Sanderson remarks.

"Yes, it is," Kevin agrees, pacing closer. He can feel it now: the moment approaching, rising up out of the darkness to wrap around them both, binding them into the inevitable action that must follow.

The other man is fixated on the view, not watching Kevin at all. This makes it easier for him to pace closer still, hand reaching to grasp the hilt of his knife. Fingers close around comfortable, familiar metal, made warm by its proximity.

Inhale. Exhale. "There's something else I should mention before we begin," he says.

"Oh?" Sanderson replies, not looking back. His last mistake.

"Mr Hartley sends his regards. Also, you're fired."

It happens all at once. Kevin draws his knife with a smooth, metallic _shiiiiik_ sound that lasts barely a second for him, but no doubt takes an eternity for the other man. And then, blade flashing in the moonlight, Kevin steps up and stabs Alan Sanderson squarely in the back.

He's killed people before. Men and women alike. Some quickly, some slowly. Some in anger, others in complete serenity.

This is different. There's a sound that defies description: something like a wet inbreath but far more so, and Sanderson's whole body goes rigid. He tries to flail with one hand, as if there was something he could do to stop the man behind him, but there isn't, and his arm barely moves, the shock too much.

Kevin yanks the knife free and Sanderson goes limp, but, before he can drop to the floor, Kevin flips him around so they're face to face; so he can see the look in the other man's eyes, the bloom of red spreading across his shirt.

"You betrayed Strexcorp," Kevin says, softly, calmly, with no aggression in his tone. Just… resigned acceptance. "They gave you every opportunity. Mr Hartley gave you every opportunity. But you chose to turn against your employers, your home, your _community_. You betrayed Desert Bluffs, Mr Sanderson. And I was sent to put that right."

"I… I…" Sanderson tries, but he's fading rapidly, and he's only upright because Kevin is holding onto him, keeping him pinned against the balcony edge.

"Shhhhh," Kevin whispers. "You lost. Of course you did. Strexcorp always wins."

Sanderson's eyes, despite being jet-black, somehow lose their light, as the last resistance drops out of his body. And… he's gone.

He's gone.

Slowly, Kevin steps back, letting the dead man slump to the floor, and breathing for what feels like the first time in several minutes. It's done. It's done.

Inhale. Exhale. It's done.

He wipes the blade of his knife and slips it away. He's covered in rather a lot of blood, but – this being Desert Bluffs – it's unlikely to draw all that much attention. He won't be the only person here tonight covered in blood, although he will possibly be the only one covered in blood because they murdered another guest in a side room.

Possibly. Not certainly. You can never be sure.

Kevin pulls out his phone. _'It's done,'_ he texts.

The reply comes through almost at once. _'Living room.'_

Leaving the body behind, Kevin paces softly down the stairs, along the hall, and back through the doors leading into the dining room. Everything beyond is exactly as it was, and at the same time intrinsically different. The whole world seems to be vibrating with possibility and with _power_ , and it's a moment before Kevin realises he's a little dizzy with it. A little _high_ on it. It's somewhat like the feeling he gets when he's summoning things with Naomi but… sharper. More personal. More… finite.

He moves through the crowd in the dining room. People are absorbed in their own conversations, and yet… some of them look at him. Some of them see.

No one interferes. They either don't question it, or _won't_ question it.

Kevin slips through the door into the living room, to find Derek Hartley waiting for him. He isn't quite sure if the man has been here the whole time or not, but suspects he has. Hartley, for his part, rises to his feet as Kevin steps in, looking him up and down.

"It's done?"

"It's done. His body's on the mezzanine overlooking the south lawn."

Hartley nods. "I'll send a cleanup crew. You were fast. Was it easy?"

"Too easy. I made contact, lured him off, and dealt with him once we were alone. He never saw it coming."

"Did he say anything?"

"Nothing of note. He was deep in conversation with two other men when I found him, though, so they might be worth looking into."

"Quite." A pause, during which Hartley gives him another careful look. "Are you all right?"

"Absolutely," Kevin replies. He is. He knows he is. He feels… like he's bathed in sunlight; radiant and resplendent and terrible and beautiful. And Hartley can clearly read more of it in his expression than Kevin wants to give away, because he smiles.

"It felt good?"

An odd question. An odd one and an apt one. Kevin stares for a moment, and then nods. "Yes. Yes. It… I've killed people before, but…"

"…That was in combat," Hartley reasons. "No time to think, to feel. Just action and reaction. Quick. Decisive. Detached."

"Yes. Exactly. But this… this was… personal. Predatory. It… yes. It felt good."

"I'm glad. And I appreciate your efforts tonight. I won't forget it. Now… I think perhaps we should get out there and enjoy the rest of the party."

So they do. They step out, side by side, the CEO and his fixer both.

And people notice that, too.


	5. Kesenuwija

**Kesenuwija**

_Foreign_

***

It's later on.

The last of the guests are filtering off home, now; the driveway awash with headlights as they slowly disperse. Kevin is still in the dining room, sitting close to the fireplace and leaning back against the wall, the remnants of a drink in his hand. He's been in something of a daze for the rest of the party, and it's only now, as the place clears out, that he's starting to feel more normal again.

As the last group moves from the bay window in search of their ride, he realises that Naomi and Darla are sitting just beyond them, side-by-side and still deep in conversation, and he smiles.

Rising to his feet, he starts to pace across to them, but is intercepted in a few steps as Lauren comes striding through the door. She's wearing a black dress tonight, with a delicate chain of amber drops around her neck and her hair pinned up elaborately at the back of her head. She glances over at Naomi and Darla, then makes a bee-line for Kevin.

"…Did you set my sister up?"

They haven't spoken all evening, and Lauren is usually one to start off with small talk, so this takes Kevin a little by surprise. "Hello to you too, Lauren," he says, brightly. "Did you enjoy the evening?"

"Of course I did, I always do. Now answer the question. Did you set my sister up?"

"I did," Kevin replies, gesturing lightly in the direction of the other two women, who aren't paying them any attention; too engrossed in their own conversation.

"I don't know who this girl is, but she's not even a manager. My father is not going to be pleased."

"Your father will be delighted. Darla can fight at least as well as me – which is to say _very_ – and she was at my side the day I avenged Terry's death."

This makes Lauren's face fall in realisation. "…Ah."

"Yes. Also she's a necromancer."

"Really? How… delightful," Lauren remarks, clearly thinking it's anything but.

"Indeed! So play nice. Naomi deserves to be happy too, you know."

Lauren sighs. "I know." She attaches herself to Kevin's arm, and right now he's a little too tired to argue. Besides… if the woman wants to be friendly, then that ought to be fine. He's told her there's no future in pursuing a romantic relationship, but that doesn't mean they can't still be close.

The trouble is, he's not sure if Lauren has accepted this yet.

They walk over to Naomi and Darla, who both look up as they draw nearer. "There you are," Naomi says, despite the fact that he's been clearly visible on the other side of the room for some time now. "Did you have a good evening?"

"Oh yes," Kevin replies, unable to keep a flicker out of his tone, and Naomi clearly catches it but doesn't comment.

"I've got to hand it to you, Kevin… this was a good idea," Darla says, smiling far more than she usually does. " _And_ … Naomi and I are meeting for coffee tomorrow. At that place with the mini muffins."

Trust Darla to score herself a win on all counts. Kevin beams. "I'm happy for you. For both of you. Right, Lauren?"

At his side, Lauren tenses but her expression doesn't waver. "Right!"

Then Kevin remembers an introduction is needed. "Oh, oh, Darla, this is Lauren Hartley, Naomi's sister. Lauren, this is Darla Kelsey."

"Charmed!" Lauren replies, in a bright, brittle tone.

Darla, meanwhile, grins. "Likewise. Naomi's told me _all_ about you."

"Oh… goodie," Lauren manages, whilst Naomi smirks when Darla isn't looking.

"Ah, there you all are," comes a voice from the doorway.

They turn to see Derek Hartley pacing in, with Susan on his arm. They both beam as they see the group by the window, moving closer at once. For their part, Naomi and Darla rise to their feet, evidently realising that the first official meet-the-parents moment is upon them and that it needs to go well.

It surely will. Hartley already has reason to like Darla, and it's Lauren he's most interested in partnering off, and… oh dear, Kevin realises, but having Lauren attached to his arm again is not going to help in that sense. Especially not when he gets a very bright smile and a raise of the eyebrows from her father.

Mercifully, though, it's Naomi who gets the attention this time and she looks almost nervous as she says, "Mom, Dad… this is Darla Kelsey."

" _Delighted_ ," Susan says, detaching herself from her husband so as to give Darla a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"Indeed," Hartley adds, shaking Darla's hand. "It's good to see you again, Miss Kelsey. Did you enjoy the party?"

"I did, thank you," Darla replies.

"We're going to meet up tomorrow," Naomi blurts out, almost as if she's nervous to admit it. "Darla and I, I mean. For coffee."

Hartley smiles, and it's reassuring to know he's content with all this. Susan, for her part, beams like the sun. "Oh, how lovely! Are we to consider you two an item, then?"

Naomi and Darla exchange a look, and even Darla seems just a touch embarrassed. "…Maybe," Naomi says. "We… sort of hope so."

"We'll let you know," Darla adds, though, from her expression, it won't be a long wait.

In this, at least, Kevin is completely delighted. If the two of them have hit it off, then that's a win. A huge win. There's little in the world he enjoys more than making his friends happy.

" _And_ , you two are looking very close as well!" Susan adds, turning to Kevin and Lauren.

"We're just friends," Kevin insists, but it doesn't reduce the bright look on Susan's face. Nor… the matching one on her husband's.

"Of course, of course," Susan says, still grinning as though she's happy to be in on the secret.

The secret that doesn't exist.

Oh dear. This is going to get worse before it gets better.

***

Time continues to roll onwards: days that become weeks, that in turn become months.

For the most part, it all goes just _super_ well. Naomi and Darla do indeed become an item – due to being just _perfect_ for each other – and Kevin remains completely delighted to have been the one who introduced them in the first place.

He continues to work – of course, as all good Strexcorp employees do – presenting his radio show daily. And sometimes… the other thing. He's not entirely sure what to call it. He isn't needed regularly, but it's still perhaps more often than he might have expected.

But that doesn't matter, because it's still _far_ too much fun. How could it not be? How could serving his hometown and his employers _not_ be simple joy?

It is. It is, whether he's reporting on new company initiatives during his show, or quietly sneaking into a building to take out half a dozen people who aren't exhibiting the necessary levels of loyalty. Or anything close.

The truth of the matter is… things are pretty darn wonderful. The only real problem is his lovelife, or – technically – lack thereof. He's usually fine with it; content either to spend time single, or to let one of his friends set him up with someone new, but for the last few months he hasn't quite dared, because he's not sure what Derek Hartley is going to say when he finds out Kevin _isn't_ actually pursuing Lauren.

And yes, OK, if he was into girls, maybe he would be. She _is_ smart and funny and completely dedicated to Strexcorp, and these are all good things. Although… sometimes he can't help but feel that they wouldn't work out. Lauren is also prone to a certain coldness, and an edge that suggests she has something darker in mind and… well. It's all moot anyway. He _isn't_ into girls, and sooner or later he's going to have to make sure that Lauren really accepts as much.

This isn't the main problem, though. Oh no. The main problem is that he is going to have to tell his boss – for whom he kills people on an increasingly frequent basis – that he doesn't want to marry the man's eldest daughter.

Life throws the strangest curveballs.

***

The turn of the millennium draws nearer and nearer. In preparation for the predicted and prophesied arrival of the terrible Millennium Bug, Strexcorp begins marshalling a veritable army of enforcers to patrol the streets of Desert Bluffs in the few weeks leading up to the big day.

Despite the danger, the town is most assuredly indulging in a little company-sanctioned revelry. Strexcorp holds a winter picnic – lasting almost two weeks – which pushes up productivity even more, and by the time the final days of December are slipping away, everyone left has more than earned their place at the New Year's party.

"You'll be there, of course," Derek Hartley says to Kevin, once the latter has finished giving his report on the latest individual he's just quietly dispatched. He's still streaked with blood, and rather badly wishing he had a boyfriend to go home to, if only to take the edge off.

"Of course," Kevin answers, not missing a beat. "I've been looking forward to it for ages. Has Mrs Hartley finalised the guest list?"

"She has. We're just having select close friends for the cocktail party: management board, family, you – of course – and lovely Darla. And then, once it gets later, we'll all head into the centre of town for the midnight ceremony."

"Have there been any confirmed sightings of _it_ yet?"

Hartley shakes his head. "No. But we're still not sure what plane it's coming from. I'm not worried, though. I imagine Susan could deal with it on her own. And with all of her coven, plus backup from the enforcers… no. I'm not worried at all. I imagine it will be quite a night."

"I'm sure you're right," Kevin agrees. "Is there anyone you want me to… look out for?"

This gets him a smile. "No. Barring any unforeseen circumstances… this time, I simply want you to enjoy yourself. Although… just in case, I'd like you to meet the man who will be in charge of security for the event."

And Hartley leans down, pressing the intercom button on his desk. "Andrew, please send Lawrence in."

Seconds later, the door opens and a man walks into the room. He's a good ten years Kevin's senior and built like a fighter, though there's a sharpness to his eyes that reveals him to be far more than just the muscle. The man is dressed in the standard enforcer uniform – black suit and orange tie – with a broad-hilted knife sheathed at the base of his spine, and a Strexcorp pin badge on his left lapel.

He shuts the door and paces closer, standing with his hands behind his back.

Hartley gestures between them. "Kevin, this is Lawrence Lavene, one of my most trusted enforcer captains. Lawrence, this is Kevin, my fixer."

Lawrence unclasps his hands and offers one to Kevin, who shakes it. "A pleasure," the man says. "I've heard stories."

"Good ones, I hope," Kevin replies.

"Oh yes," Lawrence tells him, with a flash of a grin.

"You two should talk shop," Hartley says. "I have a couple more appointments to deal with."

"Of course."

So Kevin and Lawrence leave their boss' office together, heading down past Andrew's desk – where he gives them both a nod – and along into the corridor beyond. The windows offer a breathtaking view out over the city, and for a moment they stand side-by-side, looking at it.

"You're not what I expected," Lawrence remarks, eventually.

"How so?"

"I'm not sure yet. I mean, you hear a guy on the radio and then you meet him and… yes. You're not what I expected."

"I hope I don't disappoint."

Lawrence headtilts. "Not if what Mr Hartley says about you is even half-true."

Kevin looks sideways at the other man. "He talks about me?"

"Smiling God, yes. A lot. I'm in all of the senior enforcer briefings and he rarely gets through one without mentioning you."

This makes Kevin beam at him. "I'm just glad to have made an impact."

"Oh, you definitely did that," Lawrence confirms.

Silence descends again, and Kevin opts to give the other man space to think. It lasts a moment or two before Lawrence looks at him once more. "So. The night after next. You'll be with the Hartleys, I imagine?"

"As far as I know, yes," Kevin replies. "I'm not aware of anything else Mr Hartley needs me to do."

Lawrence nods. "All right. Well. I'll have enforcer teams dotted throughout the crowd, and patrolling the main routes into the city. Do we have any idea where this thing is expected to manifest?"

Kevin shakes his head. "Not that I know of, though it's possible Susan Hartley and her people do. I half-suspect it's going to manifest right in front of the crowd so they can take it down as a New Year spectacle." He grins. "Wouldn't that be just _cool_?"

This gets him an odd look. "A creature from an untold dimension is prophesised to appear in our world and terrorise the town at the stroke of midnight on New Year's Eve, and you think that's _cool_?"

"Sure I do!"

"You really are unusual."

"Good unusual, or bad unusual?"

"…Good unusual, I think, but in a way that makes me a little worried for your sanity."

Kevin gives a self-aware smile and a shrug. "I get that a lot."

"I can imagine."

Lawrence glances out at the city again. "You want to move this conversation somewhere a little less formal?"

"Like where?"

"That depends. You into bowling?"

"Am I ever?!" Kevin exclaims. "I love bowling!"

Lawrence grins. "Well, then, come on. I can race you to three hundred and we can talk crowd control and possible demonic intervention. Maybe over a couple of beers."

"Sounds good to me!"

So off they go.

***

The Hartleys' big New Year party is – predictably – quite an affair. Other than the family themselves, and Darla, they also have the rest of the Strexcorp Management Board over too – Nina Belmonte, Lilith Wallace, Hikaru Tachibana and Aidan Outteridge – along with _their_ families. Kevin has met the board members before, at previous events, but it's the first time he's met most of their families.

In particular, the three other board offspring pique his interest. He's heard plenty about Callum Outteridge, given the man's past connection to Lauren, so he's almost surprised to find that Callum is impeccably polite and oddly quiet. But it's the silence of someone paying acute attention, not the silence of social anxiety, and Kevin wonders just what's going on in Callum's head.

Other than Callum, the only other members of the younger generation are Nina Belmonte's twin daughters, Zara and Tamsen, who have just turned twenty. Completely identical – which must be just _weird_ – and remarkably sharp, they quickly attach themselves to Lauren, who seems delighted by the attention.

Oddly, the twins have the same bright blue eyes as Lauren and Naomi… and Callum too. And their management board parents. And it _is_ odd, because _dark_ eyes are pretty much the norm in Desert Bluffs, so this little group really stands out.

They all spend the evening drinking cocktails and making small talk, much of which seems to be to do with quarterly profit margins – such dedication to the company! – as well as speculation about what might happen at midnight. Somewhat mercifully, Lauren seems to be enjoying more than a little hero-worship from the Belmonte twins, so Kevin is spared from any further awkwardness in that whole situation.

It's just after he's gone to get another drink, and is standing with it in silence for a moment, that Callum Outteridge steps up to his side.

"Interesting evening," the other man remarks, apropos of nothing.

"True enough," Kevin agrees. "I guess you're pretty used to them."

Callum gives a little shrug. "I could say the same to you, now," he points out. "You've slotted into Terry Carver's place very nicely."

Kevin looks down. "I miss him."

"You're not the only one," Callum replies. His voice is so level, giving nothing away, and Kevin can't fight the feeling that the other man is sizing him up.

"He was a good person. And amazing with a blade."

This gets him a strange smile. "A useful lifeskill to have, in these parts."

"Quite. So what do you do?"

"Junior management," Callum tells him, with the same vaguely disinterested air that Naomi had when she told Kevin the same, the night they first met. "I started out in HR but it wasn't really my thing, so last year I moved over into Logistics."

Don't blink. Don't blink. "Logistics? I've always thought that sounded interesting."

"It is. Very varied. Plenty of problems that need solving."

There's a short silence, which Kevin feels must be significant but opts not to dwell on for the moment.

"So how do you think tonight is going to go?" he asks, finally.

Callum shrugs. "I reckon this millennium thing is going to manifest, but I'm confident Mrs Hartley and her coven will take it down before we have anything to worry about. My only concern is how the thing is going to get through to this plane in the first place. I mean, something like that… it would have to be invoked by someone. It can't just manifest because it feels like it. There are _rules_."

"You think someone here is going to summon it?"

"I don't know. If what they're saying about it is true, then it's bad, so it wouldn't make sense for anyone here to invoke it. Then again… you never know."

There's a weird flicker in Callum's expression at this, though Kevin opts not to question it.

"I'd be interested in seeing you fight sometime," Callum remarks, once more out of nowhere. "It's something I enjoy myself. I… was another of Terry's pupils, actually."

His voice definitely drops at this, a chink of emotion finally showing through.

"Were you close?" Kevin asks.

Callum nods. "Yes. He taught me to fight."

Kevin puts a careful hand on Callum's shoulder. "I avenged his death. I didn't know I was doing it at the time, but… I'm glad I did. I'm glad it was me. And yes, if you'd like to spar one day…"

"I would," Callum replies, and the emotion is definitely breaking through now. "I would."

There's more to it than this, though. Kevin is sure of it. But he can take his time working out precisely what.

***

As the night draws on, the party soon decants into various cars and heads off into town, where all the people of Desert Bluffs are gathering for the New Year celebration. Its focal point is the square in the very centre of the city where the Bloodstone itself stands.

The Bloodstone. It's Desert Bluffs' most important social landmark: a huge, deep-red crystal – hence the name – the size of a small truck, which stands in the middle of a purpose-built plaza, sticking out of the ground as if it fell there from above.

Precisely where it came from, no one seems to know. There are apparently one or two older residents left in town who claim to remember a time before the Bloodstone, but even they don't know how it got here.

Well. They don't know, or they won't say.

Some believe the Bloodstone was a gift from the Smiling God itself: a focal point for a community united in love and warmth and productivity. Others are sure it was Strexcorp's very first municipal installation: a sign of what this once-small settlement would become.

Kevin isn't quite certain what he believes – only that the Bloodstone is one of the most beautiful things in all of Desert Bluffs, signifying precisely what it means to be a part of this magnificent city. This efficient workforce. He stands looking at it, as the Hartleys and their guests move to the open space at the front of the crowd, close to where the Bloodstone is, its glowing light spilling out all around.

They're mere feet away, in fact. The energy rolling across the plaza is overwhelming, and every time Kevin glances sideways, looking at the Bloodstone, he can hear that song in his head again: a soft chorus of happiness and tranquillity; angels singing in the ceaseless light. He knows the song is actually there all the time, at the back of his mind – at the back of all their minds – but rarely moving into his conscious thought. It's like breathing: it just _happens_ , and only when you pause to think about it do you realise it's actually there.

And worry it might stop, if you stop thinking about it. But then you do, and the breathing goes on, and the _song_ goes on too, and it's OK. It's all OK.

He smiles. This night is just going to be the _best!_

"People of Desert Bluffs, employees of Strexcorp, good evening," Derek Hartley begins, holding up a hand for quiet. Silence spreads out across the crowd; a crowd that fills the whole plaza and spreads out down the streets leading to it. "You all know that tonight sees the dawn of the new millennium and is, as such, a cause for great celebration. Our ceaseless dance through time brings us to this point, this auspicious night, when we walk forwards into a future glowing with the light of the Smiling God. A future in which – with your tireless efforts – Strexcorp will continue to be what it has always been: the greatest and most productive company in America."

Applause ripples across the crowd at that, along with shouts of, "Hear, hear!" and "Praise be!"

"But," Hartley goes on, glancing sideways at his wife, "we also know that tonight sees the prophesised coming of something that seeks to destroy us. To bring down all that we have wrought. The nation's media has dubbed this thing 'the Millennium Bug', and, truly, all of America fears what it might do tonight. But we, we here, we people of Desert Bluffs and of Strexcorp… we know _more_. We know that this _being_ plans to manifest on our plane and that it will do so right here, in the city we all love. And that is why we are not afraid. We are not afraid because nothing that could manifest here would be able to stand against the might of this company, and of its oldest and most _beloved_ allies… the Coven of the Sun."

A ring of figures step forward through the crowd from all directions – a rather theatrical move but brilliantly executed – as Hartley speaks the coven's name. They're all dressed – like Susan Hartley herself – in long, flowing orange robes, with broad hoods that cover their heads, but not their faces. The majority of them are women, but there are a few men amongst their number, Desert Bluffs being a _progressive_ town, after all.

"So do not fear," Hartley goes on, smiling more and more. "Tonight is not a time for fear. It is a time for celebration, for spectacle, for _victory_. Tonight is the night we step serenely forward into the future, and know that that future holds only good things, for all of us."

Another round of applause that soon accelerates into cheering, seconds before the clocktower at the north side of the plaza, beyond the Bloodstone, starts to chime the hour.

"This is it!" Susan Hartley calls out, moving away from her husband to stand facing the Bloodstone, as her coven form a line at her back.

The chimes ring out, echoing across the crowd, all of whom have their hands held up, counting down. And with each resonating sound, the air becomes more and more electric, heavy with the tang of ozone. It builds and it builds until the twelfth chime rings out, and the crowd erupts with fresh cheers in the first seconds of the new millennium.

Then the clock strikes again. A thirteenth chime. For an instant wracked with equal parts joy and terror, the air seems to solidify, and then it is rent open up above the Bloodstone, a rip in reality revealing flashes of something – some _where_ – beyond. A breath and a heartbeat later, a huge _creature_ bursts through the rift and drops directly on top of the Bloodstone, shrieking with two of its three visible mouths.

It is genuinely hideous: a massive many-limbed entity about the same size as the Bloodstone. It flails a mixture of legs and tentacles in the air, turning its multitude of dark eyes on the crowd below.

The Millennium Bug. Well, they said it was bad news.

Apparently they were right.

Kevin finds himself moving instinctively in front of the two people he's standing closest to: Lauren Hartley and Callum Outteridge (who have spent the night studiously refusing to even look at each other), arms spread defensively. He's not the only one taking action: Nina Belmonte is in front of her twin daughters, a knife in each hand, and Naomi and Darla seem to be having what must be a deeply adorable scuffle over who is going to protect the other.

They settle on standing side-by-side, and Kevin can't help a smile of pride over having got them together in the first place.

But right now he has bigger issues to deal with. The crowd is letting out a mixture of shrieks and cheers – depending on how alarmed each of them is by the appearance of a huge otherworldly creature of as-yet-unknown power – although few of them actually try to make a run for it.

And in the centre of it all, the Coven of the Sun stand together, orange robes rippling in the light breeze, each reaching out to rest a hand on the shoulder of another, forming two lines that connect to Susan Hartley in the very middle. She holds up both hands, bright symbols glowing on her palms – a sun and a triangle – and her eyes are simultaneously dark as night and vibrant as day.

Kevin can feel the shift in the air, the way all that raw power spiralling around suddenly intensifies and focuses, seconds before two bright beams burst forth from Susan's palms, striking the creature on top of the Bloodstone. It howls in shock, rearing up onto several of its hind legs and swiping tentacles down at the ground, making everyone back further away.

All five of the Management Board have drawn their knives now, and are poised at various points close to the Bloodstone, clearly ready to make a move if they have to. They wait, though, none of them interfering whilst the Coven of the Sun do what they're here to do.

Take on the Millennium Bug. And it is _darnedly_ impressive to watch. They're all chanting in low, soft unison, hands still connecting them in two lines that meet on each of Susan's shoulders, uniting whatever powers they have through her. There's a fresh burst of that vivid red light from each palm, both striking the creature again and clearly hurting it, showering the area in drops of a thick, black ichor that burns where it lands.

"Stand firm!" Susan calls out, her voice resonant and ethereal and unlike anything Kevin has ever heard before. "We're almost there! Stand f–"

And then it happens. From up above, there's a familiar roar as half a dozen helicopters swing into view over the surrounding buildings. No one seems to react at first – helicopters overhead are a commonplace sight, after all – until they realise that the helicopters aren't yellow.

No. They're a rather garish black and white checkerboard, marked with an emblem that looks like a chess piece – a knight – with a computer at its base. Doors open on the sides of several of the choppers, revealing figures within, all wearing dark suits with ties in that same checkerboard pattern.

"Stand down, Strexcorp!" declares a broad-shouldered man half-hanging out of one of the choppers with a megaphone in hand. "We are Xanatos Tech, and this is a hostile takeover! You will not stand before the might of our Millennium Bug, and you will not stand before the might of our workforce, either."

So. Callum was right. Someone _did_ invoke it deliberately, but not as a New Year spectacle.

No. Oh no. This is a hostile takeover. This is _war_. And though events like this are extraordinarily rare, every employee of Strexcorp knows what to do.

" _Destroy them!_ " Derek Hartley calls out, and _he_ doesn't need a megaphone. His voice carries across the entire crowd – maybe the entire _city_ – deep and certain and fearless and dangerous.

It's quite wonderful. Kevin's heart is thrumming in his chest, a mixture of anticipation and excitement, as he draws his knife. Around him, a great many more people are doing the same – indeed, even Lauren does – as those checkerboard-tied invaders begin rappelling down from their helicopters, and erupting from buildings all around the plaza.

They've planned this. They've planned it well. But it won't save them.

Within moments, everything has dissolved into combat, interspersed with bursts of light as various members of the workforce summon their own soul-bound demons to help. Kevin takes down a man from Xanatos Tech who comes at him from out of the spreading crowd, clearly misjudging his choice of target and gasping in shock as he gets Kevin's knife squarely to the chest.

As the body drops, Kevin realises that both Lauren and Callum are staring at him with… OK, surprisingly similar expressions. He flashes Callum a smile. "Looks like you're going to get your wish sooner than you thought," he says.

"Looks like it," Callum agrees. He glances at Lauren. "This might get interesting. Stick with us?"

She rolls her eyes. "In your wildest dreams, Cal," she says, before giving Kevin what can only be described as a longing glance and then running off across the plaza in the direction of her sister.

"Just you and me, then?" Kevin says to Callum.

The other man nods. "Let's do this."

And, weapons bared, they leap into the fray. Kevin doesn't know where all these checkerboard-tied people are coming from, but there sure are a lot of them.

Not that he minds. Right now he feels like he could take on the whole world.

In the centre of the plaza, the Coven of the Sun is still facing down against the Millennium Bug, which has now hopped down from the Bloodstone and is clicking claws against the stone-tiled floor, roaring at them. And though it all looks deeply chaotic, Kevin knows there's an order to it as well: the coven facing down this creature, and the people facing down against its summoners, the attackers from Xanatos Tech who have dared to make a move on Strexcorp. And on tonight of all nights!

Some people have _no_ manners.

But this isn't all. The five members of the Management Board have come together, close to where the coven is taking on the Millennium Bug. Their knives are sheathed, and they're moving as if none of them needs to think about it. As if they just _know_ what to do. They stand in a circle, joining hands, but not to form a ring. At first the criss-crossing pattern seems bizarre and inexplicable, but then Kevin realises that, from above, it forms the shape of a pentagram.

And if the appearance of the Millennium Bug made the air go electric, it is nothing compared to the way it feels as the Management Board begin to chant, in perfect unison; their voices resonating over the sounds of combat.

They're speaking Dzy-an-thyl. Kevin is sure of it. He isn't fluent enough yet to translate the whole thing, but he catches a few words in the middle that he can understand.

_'Crack the sky and herald the day, and let ceaseless radiance endure above all'._

Kevin has a few seconds to wonder at what this might mean, the words sending a delicious shiver down his spine… and then he realises the invocation is completely literal.

The sky cracks open and falls back; the dark cloak of night falling away to reveal vibrant orange beyond, with the sun directly overhead, and glowing brighter than midday in midsummer.

But… no. No. That isn't the sun. That isn't the sun at all.

Kevin feels it at once: a power that glows off every surface, glittering in the sudden glare, a light and a warmth that fills him up from inside and out. And it is more wonderful than anything he's ever known, blazing through his blood like fireworks.

He can do anything. _Everything_.

"For the Smiling God!" Kevin shouts, blood-streaked blade in the air.

" _For the Smiling God!_ " a great many people roar in reply.

And, their timing perfect, it's precisely this point that the Coven of the Sun call out words of their own – the language one Kevin can't even identify – seconds before the light glowing from Susan's palms becomes bright enough to rival the not-sun overhead. The two beams strike the Millennium Bug in unison, making it rear up and howl again, but this time the light seems to break _into_ it, filling the creature from within.

" _I cast you out!_ " Susan shouts, her voice ringing above everything else. " _I cast you down!_ "

And the Millennium Bug explodes. Or, rather, it cracks, it implodes, and _then_ it explodes, in a cascade of light and don't-even-think-about it debris that – mercifully – dissolves before it even hits the ground.

For a moment, there's silence, as everyone freezes in surprise, staring at what's just transpired in the centre of the plaza. And then, now forming a line, the Management Board all re-draw their blades.

" _Destroy them_ ," Derek Hartley says again, and though he doesn't even raise his voice, Kevin is confident that everyone will hear it.

And the battle is on. Looks like it's going to be an interesting – and sunny – night.


	6. Teo

**Teo**

_God_

***

It's a couple of hours later.

The hostile takeover has now spread to the whole of Desert Bluffs. There are pockets of combat all across the city, as the people work to repel their attackers.

Kevin and Callum have been fighting together, making their way through the streets and taking out any Xanatos Tech employees they find. There's a lot of them – they must have been planning this for months, if not years – and they're putting up a good fight.

But it won't be enough. It can't ever be enough. Not with the light of the Smiling God overhead, bathing the Strexcorp employees in its radiance.

It's only a matter of time.

The last of his current targets felled, Kevin looks back at Callum, who has just finished off a target of his own. "You good?" he asks.

Callum brushes away the worst of the blood, which is – of course – not his. "I'm good," he says. "But you? Smiling God, Kevin, you fight like a _demon_."

"Awwww, thank you!" Kevin exclaims, as he swipes up one of the dead attackers' fallen knives and throws it squarely at a man who is trying to creep up on Callum. "It's always a pleasure to fight for Strexcorp."

Callum looks over his shoulder as the man creeping up on him gasps in shock, thrown knife sticking squarely out of his chest, before slumping to the floor.

"Show-off," Callum says, grinning as he turns back to Kevin.

"You _love_ it," Kevin replies.

…And, OK, Smiling God, are they _flirting_ now?

"So…" Kevin starts out, as the two of them set off along the more-bloodstrewn-than-usual street, towards the sounds of another pocket of fighting up ahead. "…You and Lauren Hartley?"

"Totally did not work out," Callum answers. "I mean, don't get me wrong, she's smart and surprisingly funny, and _very_ dedicated to the company. And, you know, _really_ hot. But she's completely impossible to live with. If it had gone any further, one of us would have murdered the other, and _neither_ of our fathers would be pleased about that. Though, from what I hear, she's got her sights set on someone else now…"

He's looking sideways at Kevin as he says this, though it's hard to tell precisely what emotion is hiding in those unnatural blue eyes.

Kevin gives a little sigh. "She does," he confirms. "Me. Even after I told her I'm gay."

"So you're not into girls at all?"

"Not like that."

"I see. I swing both ways."

Kevin stops and stares at the other man. "Which of us are you checking up on, Callum? Her or me?"

Callum smiles. "You."

Maybe a little bluntness is called for here. "Are you flirting with me?"

Callum smiles more. "Yes."

"…You only met me earlier tonight."

"I only _met_ you earlier tonight, but _everyone_ knows who you are. You're pretty much a celebrity round here."

Kevin actually blushes at this, though he hopes all the blood hides at least some of it. "Hardly," he says, aiming for a very modest tone. " _You're_ the son of one of the leaders of Strexcorp."

" _You're_ the fixer of _the_ leader of Strexcorp. _And_ you're the voice of Desert Bluffs. And you can talk to me _anytime_."

They're both high on all the combat. They must be. The combat and blood and ceaseless empowering light. That explains it.

Callum reaches out, grabs hold of Kevin by the tie, and pulls him in to kiss. It only lasts a moment, and it is completely insane. And really, _really_ nice.

"…We should talk about this," he manages, when the other man lets go of him. "When the whole hostile takeover situation is dealt with."

"Yes," Callum agrees. "We should."

Which doesn't mean they can't kiss again, for good measure, holding on with one hand each because they both have a blade in the other.

" _Smiling God_ , really?" comes a voice from the side.

They break apart to see none other than Lauren Hartley advancing towards them. She's covered in more than a little blood, and accompanied by…

…OK, what is it? It must be her demon, but Kevin has never seen one like this. It's a dark, cloudlike shape with no definite edges, its centre blacker than the void of space, save for a pair of curved, glowing yellow eyes.

"We broke up _months_ ago, Lauren," Callum says.

She gives him a withering look. "I wasn't talking about _you_ , Cal."

"I'm _gay!_ " Kevin insists, for what feels like the millionth time.

"So?" Lauren retorts, walking closer with that whatever-it-is hovering at her back. "I'm the heir to Strexcorp, and you and I would make the _most_ amazing team. And I _totally_ wouldn't mind if you had secret boyfriends on the side."

"No, Lauren!"

"Really? You could bring them home to share. Or, you know, not. Whatever works."

"Lauren! I am not having a political marriage, even to you!"

"But I'm the _heir to Strexcorp!_ "

"And I'm a hopeless romantic who's holding out for love!"

They're standing close together now, expressions equally exasperated. And before Lauren can speak again, Callum laughs.

"…You two would make a _totally_ cute couple, though," he says.

" _Callum!_ " both Kevin and Lauren exclaim, in unison.

"…Forgive my intrusion, but there are three men from Xanatos Tech approaching from the north," comes a seemingly sourceless voice that Kevin realises must be the void-demon hovering at Lauren's back. And as it speaks, he finds himself trying to suppress a giggle.

"Your demon is _British?_ " he says.

Lauren rolls her eyes. "He's not British, he's Third Infernal Plane."

"But he _sounds_ British."

"Would you focus on the conversation in hand?!" Lauren exclaims.

"I think maybe we should focus on the Xanatos Tech guys?" Callum suggests, as three checkerboard-tied figures appear around the upcoming corner and launch at them.

"Hold that thought," Kevin says to Lauren, as they turn to deal with the interruption.

It isn't a difficult fight. Despite the fact that Xanatos Tech appears to have been planning this hostile takeover for years, their employees are surprisingly easy to take down… although maybe that's because Strexcorp has the Smiling God at its back. Either way, Kevin is confident he could have dealt with these three on his own, but with Callum and Lauren to help, the battle takes only moments.

It's the first time he's actually seen Lauren fight, and she's better than he expected, though it's obvious she's doing it because she has to, not because she wants to. Her target is the last to go down, slumping to the floor after he gets simultaneously stabbed in the chest by Lauren, and speared in the back by some kind of spike projected by the void-demon.

"Nice going, you," Lauren says to it.

"Likewise," the demon answers, still in that inexplicable British accent.

"What's your demon's name, anyway?" Kevin asks, yanking his own knife free from the now-body on the ground and turning back to the other two.

Lauren shrugs. "Zil."

"…'Zil'?"

"Yes."

"That's… unusually short."

"He's an unusual demon."

"…Fair point."

Before Kevin can say any more, two new figures come hurtling round the corner, and he's drawing breath for a fresh round of combat before he realises that the newcomers are, in fact, Naomi and Darla. They both relax a little when they see Kevin, Callum and Lauren, hurrying over to them.

"Enjoying yourselves?" Darla asks.

"Oh yes!" Kevin replies, brightly. "This is my first hostile takeover and – whilst obviously I'm offended by the very idea of anyone trying to move against Strexcorp – I must say that fighting for the company I love is just _wonderful_."

This gets him a broad grin from Darla, a very odd look from Naomi, and a rather wistful look from Lauren. He doesn't quite dare glance at Callum, though.

"We just came from the centre of town," Naomi says. "The leaders of Xanatos Tech landed a little while back, and Dad and the others are taking them on."

"What about your mom?" Kevin asks.

"Oh, she and the rest of the coven are leading the fight in the east of the city," Naomi tells him. "Last I heard, they were going to invoke H'ygragagogoth."

"But it isn't one of his festival days!" Kevin exclaims in alarm.

"Nope," Darla agrees, happily. "So you should probably stay out of the east side of town. It's not going to be pretty." She gives a little sigh and then looks at Naomi. "Can we go see?"

"…No," Naomi replies. "If they're invoking H'ygragagogoth, I think we should stay a safe distance away."

"For once, I agree with Naomi," Lauren chips in. "Although, with all this talk of demons, I'm surprised you don't have yours," she adds, giving Naomi a pointed look.

Naomi shrugs. "But I do. She'll be along in a minute. She's busy."

As if in answer, there's a sudden shriek from the bushes off to the side, and a figure in a checkerboard tie tumbles out, seconds before a small, catlike creature leaps after it, lands on its chest, and promptly makes it dissolve into smoke.

Ozhen'ipleth twitches her ears nonchalantly, flicks her tail, and then pads over to Naomi looking pleased with herself.

Lauren rolls her eyes. "Hello, little gremlin."

The demon hops up onto Naomi's shoulder, turning her own yellow eyes on Lauren and hissing.

"Don't be rude to Heni," Naomi retorts, glowering at her sister. "I've told you before."

"You never _stop_ telling me," Lauren drawls. " _'Oh, she's Second Infernal Plane, show some respect!'_ "

"There really is no need for all the planism," Zil the hovering void-demon interjects. "And I would have expected better, coming from _you_ people."

"Which means?" Lauren demands, sharply.

" _Which means_ ," Callum cuts in, very pointedly, "maybe you should stop bickering and we can get back to the issue in hand."

"Callum's right," Kevin says. "We have invaders to repel, a company to defend, and a Smiling God to praise."

"Right," Naomi agrees. "But we should split up again. We can cover more ground that way."

"OK, seriously, never suggest splitting up," Lauren replies. "The one who suggests splitting up is the one who gets killed first."

Naomi headtilts at Ozhen'ipleth, gesturing with her knife. "Do I look like I'm going to get killed first?"

"…Good point," Lauren concedes. "But Zil and I are coming with you, to make sure. And because I can't stand another moment around Cal."

Callum just rolls his eyes. "Fine. I'm sticking with Kevin."

Lauren gives him a nasty look. "So I noticed."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" Naomi asks.

"I'll tell you as we walk," Lauren answers, tone suddenly sing-song and delighted again. "Come on, dear sister, let's go kill something."

And she practically skips off with Zil in tow.

Darla glances at Naomi. "You sure you're not adopted?"

Naomi sighs. "I'm afraid not. Kevin, Callum, we'll see you later. Don't get killed, OK?"

"OK!" Kevin replies.

And the two women hurry off after Lauren.

"That was… special," Callum remarks, when he and Kevin are alone again. "Smiling God, the Hartley girls are a handful."

"Oh, Naomi's fine," Kevin replies. "And so's Darla, once you get used to her. I just wish Lauren would stop pursuing me so we can be friends instead."

"I can think of better friends to have than Lauren Hartley," Callum says, in an odd tone.

"You mean like you?" Kevin asks, leadingly, just to see what the other man will do… because, darn it, this whole thing is weird and unexpected and nice and needs to be explored.

"Yeah," Callum answers. "I mean like me."

And this gets Kevin kissed again… which may have been what he was aiming for. He grins as they break apart, keeping a hand on Callum to stop him going anywhere. "And _you_ are still very forward for someone who only met me tonight, and who spent most of our first conversation being incredibly guarded about every last word."

"So? I was being careful. People are different when you meet them in real life. I may listen to your show every day, but I didn't know you. Not before tonight."

"And now you know me, do you?"

"I'm starting to. And I'd like to a whole lot more…"

Just as they're about to step in for another kiss, Kevin's cellphone starts to ring. He gives an almost sheepish hold-that-thought grin and reaches to tug the phone from his pocket.

"Kevin? It's Lawrence."

"Oh, hey you. How's it going?"

"Pretty good," comes Lawrence's reply. "I'm leading a team in the south of the city. We've been meeting some fairly heavy resistance, but not enough to stop us."

"Glad to hear it!"

"Where are you? I tried to find you when it all went down at the Bloodstone, but by the time I got over to the other edge of the plaza, you'd gone."

"Oh, sorry, I took off down one of the side-streets. Kind of got a bit caught up in it all, actually."

"I'm not surprised," Lawrence says. "Are you on your own?"

"No, no, Callum Outteridge is with me."

"Ah, good, I've been trying to locate everyone from the five families. Is he OK?"

Even though Callum can't hear the other side of the conversation, Kevin gives him a very deliberate look up and down before saying, with quite a grin, "Oh, he's just _fine_."

"Good. Make sure he stays that way."

"Oh, I will, I promise."

"Where are you now?"

Kevin headtilts, looking around for a street sign. "Uh… corner of Astral and Lexington."

"Wow, you do move fast, don't you?"

"I told you I got a bit carried away."

"Well, you keep on getting carried away," Lawrence tells him. "Be good to have this wrapped up before mid-morning."

"I know," Kevin agrees. "This is really cutting into the millennial festivities! Although… I don't exactly mind a little vigorous corporate negotiation all the same."

"So I'm gathering. I'll catch up with you later, Kevin."

"Indeed you will!"

And he hangs up.

"Who was that?" Callum asks.

"Lawrence Lavene. One of Mr Hartley's enforcer captains."

Callum nods. "Oh yes, I know Lawrence. Is everything OK?"

"He's fine. He's down in the south of the city. Though he was also trying to locate all the members of the five families. I'm surprised he didn't ring you before he rang me."

This gets him a little shrug. "Maybe he did. I don't have my phone on me. I only carry it during office hours. The government can track you through those things, you know."

Kevin grins. "I hardly think the government has the infrastructure to pull off something of that complexity. Strexcorp, on the other hand…"

"…Quite," Callum agrees, with an odd look. "Now, where were we..?"

Kevin grins rather more. "Right here, I believe…"

They kiss again, lingering over it this time. As they step back, Kevin gestures ahead of them. "Come along, Mr Forward. We should go kill some more people."

"You're a complicated man, you know that?"

"I do! And thank you!"

Up ahead, four more Xanatos Tech employees hurtle round the corner, skidding to a halt when they see the scene of devastation in the road, and the two Strexcorp employees looking over at them in delight.

"Race you," Kevin says to Callum.

And they're off.

***

It's later still when the messengers arrive.

Kevin and Callum are fighting on through the streets, though their targets are rapidly dwindling in number, and the word from the fellow Strexcorp employees they encounter is that Xanatos Tech is already close to defeat.

It feels good. Better than good. _Great_. Though the mood is dampened a little by the arrival of two messengers, who catch up with them and say that Callum is needed back at headquarters.

He sighs. "It's a Logistics thing. But I'd better go. Dad won't be pleased if he finds out I refused."

"I know," Kevin replies. "I'm going to keep fighting out here."

"You be careful," Callum says. "We have a lot of unfinished business."

Kevin grins. "Yes. Yes, we do. Call me later, when you get back to that cellphone of yours?"

"Count on it."

And, getting some odd looks from the pair of messengers, Callum heads off, leaving Kevin alone. On the one hand, he's sad about this, because fighting alongside Callum for the last few hours has been nothing short of exhilarating. But on the other hand…

…On the other hand, there's a certain thrill to fighting alone. To facing down an opponent and knowing it's you – and only you – they fear.

Kevin pauses in the centre of the blood-strewn street, knife still in hand, head back and eyes closed for a moment as he lets the light of the not-sun wash over him, and… he feels it again.

Radiant. Resplendent. Terrible. Beautiful.

He'll fight. However long it takes… he'll fight.

For Strexcorp.

***

It's hours later.

Kevin doesn't know how long he's been fighting for. Certainly all night, sunny as it has been. Maybe longer. Maybe forever.

He feels higher than the sun, bright as fire and deadly as the blade in his hand. There aren't many enemy employees left, but each one he finds, he dispatches with increasing ease. And it is more wonderful than he can put into words.

He is the hand of the Smiling God, the arm of Strexcorp, the voice of Desert Bluffs… a smile in the sunlight and a flash of silver before the end, and nothing, nothing, _nothing_ can stand before him now…

The last target goes down, and Kevin stays as he is, dropped into a half-crouch, blade at his side, a red-spattered figure in the ceaseless day.

He breathes. He _breathes_. And then, he hears a familiar voice speak his name, soft and sure and delighted.

" _Kevin_."

He rises, turning slowly, to see Derek Hartley standing off to the side, looking across at him.

"…Sir? Is… is it over?"

Hartley smiles, the strangest flicker of fondness in his eyes. "It's over. I've been looking for you."

"…I was fighting. There aren't many of them left, but… I was fighting."

Kevin knows he's barely coherent right now, but it doesn't seem to matter. Hartley takes a step closer. "Are you all right?"

"I… fine. I'm fine. I…"

It's only now that Kevin processes the pain, though as he does he wonders how long it's been there for. He glances down at his left side, which – like the rest of him – is red with blood, except… except this is different. This is _his_. The pain cuts into his conscious mind again, brighter this time, and he instinctively claps his hand over the wound.

How..? When..? He doesn't know. But he can feel it now.

He drops back down onto one knee, the sensation suddenly building more and more as his mind processes it. The instant he falls, Hartley hurries over, putting one of his own hands over Kevin's side too, and using the other to pull him upright.

"I'm so proud of you," Hartley whispers, and the words are so wonderful that Kevin feels like he might fall over again, without those hands to hold him up. "Just relax, now. I'll take you somewhere safe."

Keeping one hand on Kevin, Hartley holds up the other and – mere seconds later – a helicopter erupts into view over the nearby buildings, glowing yellow in the light, responding to him as easily as if he'd just hailed a taxi. The chopper circles around and comes in to land on the street close by, the pilot leaping out and pulling the side door open for them.

"Come on," Hartley says. "I've got you."

The world is going hazy, though Kevin doesn't know if that's the exhaustion catching up with him, the unexpected bloodloss, or the fact that one of his all-time heroes is now half-carrying him to a personally-chartered helicopter.

Within moments, they're inside; Hartley keeping Kevin close so he doesn't slump sideways, and _wow_ , that feels…

…something.

The helicopter lifts off, swooping into the air and hurtling across the city. Down below, visible through the windows, Kevin can see street after blood-strewn street, where the cleanup operation is slowly beginning.

"…We really won?" he asks, softly.

"We did," Hartley replies. "The workforce performed marvellously… as I knew it would. And you… well, we've been hearing rumours about you all night."

"…Oh?" Kevin manages, doing his best not to sound too guilty in case some of those rumours involve the part where he's made out with Callum Outteridge several times.

If Hartley knows about this, he doesn't mention it. "Yes. Rumours of an unstoppable force taking down every interloper in his path. The voice of Desert Bluffs and Strexcorp's strong right arm."

"…I'm left-handed."

Hartley gives a soft laugh. "And contrary to boot. But that's why I like you. Now relax, we'll be back at the estate in minutes."

"…Wait… Naomi, Darla, Lauren, are they..?"

"They're fine," Hartley reassures him. "They're all back at the house already. As are the rest of the five families. The only one not there is Callum Outteridge, who's still co-ordinating things over at Logistics. But I think you already know that…"

He gives Kevin a careful look, and there's no holding back when those bright blue eyes are cutting into his soul. "…We fought together for much of the night."

"You did more than that, judging by what Lauren said when she made it home."

Kevin glances down, worrying about what the response to this is going to be. It is most certainly not how he wanted it all to come to light. "She… told you?"

"Everything," Hartley says, pointedly. "It would perhaps have been in her interests to tell me sooner, given that she's known since the incident with the bryzyline. As for you… I won't say I'm not disappointed. Not because I don't want you to be who you are, but simply because I had hoped to one day call you my son-in-law."

"You… you're not mad?"

"Of course not. What kind of man do you think I am? You are who you are, Kevin, and who you are is a beloved friend of this family, and a loyal employee of this company. And that's all that matters."

Kevin stares at Hartley. He's worried for so long about how this moment might go that having it creep up on him is a blessing and a curse in equal measure. But it's gone so surprisingly well that he almost wonders if he's, in fact, in the middle of some kind of bloodloss-related hallucination.

But he isn't. His boss doesn't hate him, Lauren will get over it, and Callum Outteridge made out with him multiple times. And… he helped defend Strexcorp from a hostile takeover that will surely be talked of for years to come.

Kevin smiles, hazy but genuine. "…Happy New Year," he manages.

And Hartley smiles back. "Happy New Year," he replies.

***

It isn't long before the helicopter is touching down on the lawn outside the Hartley family manor. There are three other choppers here too, though at least one looks to be readying for takeoff again.

As the rotors on their helicopter come to a halt, the pilot leaps out to open the rear door, letting Hartley step down onto the lawn, helping Kevin alongside him. The not-sun is still blazing overhead, bathing everything and everyone in its heat, and it's almost a relief as they head inside the cool manor house, where a hub of activity is waiting for them.

A number of chairs and camp beds are set up in the main reception hall, with various people sitting or lying on them. Kevin doesn't recognise everyone, but it's clear they're all higher-ups of some description. Those who are injured are being seen to by medics: no one seems critically hurt, though some of them have nasty-looking wounds all the same.

As Hartley and Kevin step in, a pair of enforcers instinctively move closer, followed by a medic who looks like he does not want to keep his boss waiting. Seeing that Kevin is injured – and, perhaps, that Hartley is fine – he waves to the closest empty bed. "Get him up on there," he says, clipped and no-nonsense. "I'll see to him."

And in moments, Hartley has Kevin laid out on his good side, whilst the medic starts to examine the knife-wound on the other. As he works, Hartley waves one of the enforcers in closer. "Tell Susan and the girls that we're back," he says.

"At once," the enforcer answers, and darts off.

Feeling increasingly hazy, from the adrenaline come-down and the bloodloss combined, Kevin blinks up at Hartley. "I'll be fine, sir," he insists. "You don't have to stay."

Hartley smiles. "I'm not going anywhere," he replies.

And that? Well, that feels… weird. And good. And…

…Definitely the bloodloss.

Kevin doesn't have long to muse hazily on it all though because, within a couple of moments, there's a shout from across the hall. "Dad? Kevin?"

"Over here," Hartley replies, somehow making himself heard without actually shouting back.

It's Naomi. She hurries over, genuine concern in her eyes, takes one look at Kevin and bristles noticeably. "Who did it?" she asks, clearly ready to kill someone.

Unfazed, her father shrugs. "Neither of us knows for sure. Kevin didn't even realise he was injured until he stopped for breath. And I very much doubt the offending attacker was still alive by that point."

"Lucky for them," Naomi says, darkly. "Otherwise, I'd…"

She trails off, closing her eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath. "Sorry. It's been a long night."

"'S'OK," Kevin insists. "Besides, I'm fine, honest… _oh_ …"

"Hold still," the medic chides.

"…Sorry," Kevin replies. Though it isn't exactly easy. He's never been hurt like this before and the shock of it is almost worse than the wound itself.

"Where's your mother?" Hartley says to Naomi.

"Upstairs with the rest of the coven," Naomi answers. "A couple of them were hit hard by the invocation, so soon after taking down the Millennium Bug."

"Is someone seeing to them?"

"Nina and Aidan, last I heard."

Hartley nods. "Good. What about young Outteridge Junior?" There's an odd flicker in his eyes as he speaks, along with a flicker of a grin that Kevin can't help feeling is solely for his benefit.

"Callum called in from Logistics about half an hour ago," Naomi says. "They're liasing with the enforcers to dispatch cleanup crews. He's hoping to report to you in person in another couple of hours."

"Excellent. We'll be very pleased to see him. Now… where is that sister of yours?"

Naomi scowls. "Lauren went off in one of the choppers just before you got back."

Hartley's expression darkens. "I left _strict_ instructions that all of you were to stay here now that the worst of the fighting is over."

"So you did," Naomi sighs. "But Lauren got wind of the fact that you captured two of the Xanatos Tech higher-ups alive. She and a couple of guys from HR took the chopper out to the Vista Ridge facility to… question them."

This makes Hartley relax again. "Ah. Yes, I see. Well, I suppose she _is_ rather good at it."

"Rather _too_ good," Naomi replies.

"We all have our special skillsets," her father answers, calmly. "Like young Kevin here."

Naomi puts a gentle hand on Kevin's arm and smiles. "We've all been hearing the rumours. Is it true about the thing at the bus terminal?"

Kevin tries not to blush. "Well, yes, but it was just a lucky throw…"

"…And the pony-petting station?"

"I did _not_ know they were carnivorous!"

"I think it's fair to say that Kevin's had a busy night," Hartley cuts in, diplomatically. Saving him again, for all intents and purposes.

"Just doing my job…" Kevin murmurs, starting to relax now that the worst of the work on his side is over.

"And doing it wonderfully," Hartley tells him.

At this point, Naomi's cellphone rings. She gives them both an apologetic glance before lifting it to look at the little screen. "Oh, it's Lauren. I'd better take this."

"Hello? Lauren, what do you want?"

Naomi listens for a moment, expression soon darkening. "Well, do something to stop it! Dad will not be happy if you kill the guy!" Another pause. "He won't _care_ who did it. You're the one in charge over there."

Another pause, and then a smirk. "I can go one better. He's right here. Yes, he got back a few minutes ago. Uh-huh. Yes. Standing right next to me. Yes, and listening to everything I say. Oh, sure, I'll pass you over. Bye-bye now…"

And, still smirking, Naomi hands the phone to Hartley, who gives her something of a look before lifting the phone to speak. "Lauren, this is your father. What exactly are you doing?"

He listens, closes his eyes for a second, shakes his head, and then gives Naomi and Kevin an apologetic glance. "I'd better go deal with this. Naomi, please stay with Kevin."

She nods, and watches for a moment as her father paces away, now talking rapidly to Lauren on the phone. Kevin stares after his boss' retreating figure before blinking up at Naomi. "'M having a great new year so far," he remarks, unable to stop smiling.

"Evidently," Naomi replies, before looking over at the medic. "Will he be OK?"

The medic nods. "Oh yes. You'll need to take it easy for a few weeks, and you might well be left with a scar, but you'll be up and fighting for Strexcorp again soon enough. No other lasting damage. I imagine the person responsible for it fared rather less well?"

Kevin grins sheepishly. "I'm not even sure who it was. I didn't notice at first."

"That'll be the adrenaline," the medic replies. "Now, sit up so I can get this bandaged."

With a little help from Naomi, Kevin sits upright, the world going slightly hazy again at the shift in position. He can feel, now, how tired he is; the dull, warm ache from the hours of exertion. It isn't unpleasant, though. On the contrary, now he knows the wound on his side is dealt with, he feels _great_.

As the medic covers and bandages his side, Kevin looks up at Naomi. "Where's Darla?"

"…You don't want to know. Necromancer, remember? Doesn't mean I don't love her to bits – 'cause I do – but still. I guess I should thank you for introducing us."

"You're welcome," Kevin tells her, beaming. "I knew you'd be perfect for each other."

"Speaking of unexpected pairings… what exactly is going on with you and Cal Outteridge?"

"I'm… not sure yet," Kevin admits. "I mean… I only met him at the party last night, but we ended up fighting side by side, and then I realised he was flirting with me and I may have flirted back and then… well then we sort of kissed. Uh… more than once. And… and I don't know. I mean, he's great with a blade and he's obviously a smart guy and he's _super_ cute too…"

Naomi smiles. "I have a lot of time for Cal. He's… well. He's one of the good ones."

Kevin beams some more. He likes Naomi far too much not to care about her opinion, so knowing she's in favour of it all is a welcome thing.

At this point, Derek Hartley paces over to them again, handing Naomi her phone. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to go back out," he says. "There's a little situation over at the Vista Ridge facility. Naomi, please apologise to your mother for me. And Kevin… you take some time to rest. You earned it."

"It was an honour," Kevin replies. "All for Strexcorp."

 _All for you_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And... cliffhanger! But, trust me, if my Kevin muse gets his way (and he usually does) then it shouldn't be too long before there's more! ;-)
> 
> Coming Up Next: A terrible dream. A shattered song. A world-changing revelation. And then, beyond a doubt, the darkest scene I've ever written in a Night Vale fic...
> 
> EDIT: It's here. Take a deep breath...


	7. Ereuterose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Apparently I'm in a giving mood today, because - hot on the heels of my Episode 70A tag - here's three more chapters of _this_ thing.
> 
> Don't thank me yet, though. Herein begins the darkest sequence I have written in a very long time...

**Ereuterose**

_Set free_

***

The next few weeks are uneventful by comparison. The mood in the town is greatly bolstered by both the dawning of the new millennium and the victory that accompanied it. Categorically defeated after their failed takeover attempt, the remnants of Xanatos Tech are quickly absorbed into Strexcorp.

Kevin has to take it easy for a while, given the injury he sustained, but that doesn't really pose a problem because everyone is being extremely nice to him. Well, everyone except Daniel, who scowls and rolls his eyes whenever he thinks Kevin isn't looking. And sometimes when he is.

But it doesn't matter, and doubly-so now that Kevin has Callum Outteridge in his life. The two of them go on several dates, quickly hitting it off, and Kevin feels better than he has in… well, ever, actually, and he usually feels pretty darn good to begin with.

Once his side has healed, Kevin invites Callum to spar with him. They've talked about it a lot since the night of the hostile takeover attempt, and, though they've had the chance to fight side by side, they haven't yet had the chance to go one on one.

Well… not like that, at least.

Since losing Terry all those months ago, Kevin has been training alone – though he and Lawrence Lavene have started talking about meeting up to spar as well – in the same enforcer station where he and Terry used to meet. He and Callum get together there one evening after Kevin is done at the radio studio, going through some warm-up exercises before starting to face off.

It's a _lot_ of fun. Kevin knows that Callum is good at this too, having fought alongside him, but it's a very different feeling to fight against him, even on friendly terms. They spar for some time, blades flashing through the air, deadly and beautiful.

For a while, they seem pretty evenly matched. There's echoes of Terry's style in the way Callum fights, which is good to see, and which also gives Kevin an idea as to how the man will react to his attacks. The more they fight, though, the more Kevin becomes aware of something else: slightly slower steps and barely mis-timed blocks, but with a precision behind them that makes it unlikely they're just the result of poor form.

It intrigues him. It also makes him work harder, stepping up his own game until – all of a sudden – he knocks the knife from Callum's hand, kicks his legs out from under him, and drops down on top of the floored man, blade against his throat. Callum resists for a second but then relaxes, staring up at Kevin with those bright blue eyes, wide and… hopeful?

"Tell me something," Kevin starts, softly. "Why are you letting me win?"

"I'm not," Callum replies. "You're just very good at this."

"We're both very good at this. But I can tell by the way you've been moving that something isn't quite right. You're letting me win, Cal."

Callum hesitates for a moment before answering. "…And? So what if I am?"

"We always fight to win. Terry taught me that, and I'm sure he taught you the same."

"He did."

"So why aren't you?"

Now Callum smiles. "Because sometimes it's OK to lose… to the right person."

Kevin stares at him. "You… _want_ me to win?"

"Is that so wrong?"

For a moment, Kevin is about to insist that it is. That they _always_ fight to win: for Desert Bluffs, for Strexcorp. Except… this isn't about Desert Bluffs, or Strexcorp. It's about them. Just them.

And the rules don't have to be the same.

"…No," Kevin answers. "No. I suppose it isn't wrong at all."

Callum smiles more, tilting his head back almost… invitingly. "Then _win_ ," he whispers.

For a second, Kevin has to think about what this might mean. In a real combat situation, it would entail killing his opponent, or at very least taking them into custody. But here…

…Why not?

He kisses Callum hard. As hard as he can. The other man makes a soft moan of delight, opening up to the kiss, going completely pliant beneath him, and that feels… that feels…

…OK, _that's_ what he means…

It feels amazing. Not only the kissing itself – which he's already in favour of – but the way he can sense Callum just…

… _surrendering_.

And it's only now that Kevin realises he still has his knife against the other man's neck, though Callum doesn't seem to be objecting to that, either. And when Kevin breaks the kiss, and brushes the edge of the blade lightly up the front of Callum's throat…

"… _Yes_ …" the other man gasps, as if he can't quite stop himself.

"You like that?"

"I do. Smiling God, I do."

"And do you give in?"

"Yes. _Yes_."

Kevin smiles, and he can feel the way the other man's breath catches.

"Do you know what I'm going to do to you now?" he purrs, the power-rush going rapidly to his head.

Callum's eyes widen, though he can't hold back a grin as he replies. "Take me home and ravage me into incoherence?"

"Close. Ravage you into incoherence, yes. Oh yes. But take you home first? No. _I'm going to do it right here_. And I hope for your sake that you can keep the noise down… or all the enforcers in the next room are going to get quite a show."

One thing is for sure. This just got interesting.

***

The weeks start to pass, blending into months.

Life is good. Kevin and Callum get closer by the day, and more creative by the night. Strexcorp, triumphant and unchallenged, continues moving ever-efficiently onwards, guided by the hand and the light of the Smiling God.

All is well. All is well with the Hartleys – even Lauren seems to have calmed down about everything, though she and Callum still don't get on – and incidents of dissident behaviour are few, and relatively minor.

Life couldn't be more perfect, even by the standards of Desert Bluffs.

And then, one night, it happens.

Kevin lies, mind in the arms of sleep, and body in the arms of Callum, who's over at his place again. He usually enjoys very restful sleep – even more so now he doesn't have to do it alone – but tonight… tonight is different.

In the depths of his unconscious self, the dream flares up, and he sees it: sees his city, his Desert Bluffs, glowing vibrant blood-red in the night. From his mental vantage point, he can watch it all simultaneously, a stillness underscored by that ceaseless song. He rarely thinks about it when he's awake, but when he sleeps… it's there, always there, soft and beautiful, lulling him deeper.

Only now… now it's something else: the soft chants of angels falling back and giving way to a different song that is also the _same_ song… a cracked, broken roaring; undeniable and endless; churning and shattered and bloody.

Inside his own mind, in the grip of the dream, Kevin gasps, trying to push the song away, trying to make the angel chants come back instead, until he slowly understands that the song hasn't changed, not even a little bit. He's just hearing it differently.

He looks up, head arched back to a grey, cloudy night sky that suddenly cracks in half, bathing him in blazing hot light that hurts where it touches. He cries out, the pain real and inescapable, burning him up, agony without end.

And then he sees it, just for a second: a flash of perspective, a change of location, and he's looking at the Bloodstone, glowing deep red. Calling to him. _Singing_ to him.

Radiant. Resplendent. _Terrible_.

Kevin awakes with a cry, his heart racing like he's been sprinting flat-out. He sits upright at once, shaking all over, running his hands over his arms and feeling sure that the lingering pain in his skin is real, not imagined.

"…Kevin?" Callum murmurs, waking at his side. "Kevin, are you OK?"

"I… fine, I'm…"

Callum sits up next to him, slipping an arm around him, and Kevin's skin feels so sensitive that even the soft touch hurts. "What is it?" Callum asks.

"…Nightmare," Kevin manages. "I… it…" A pause. A deep breath. "It was just a nightmare."

It's easy to brush it aside, now that reality has reasserted. Now that the images, the sounds, the _pain_ , are all revealed as nothing more than the shadows of his sleeping mind.

…Right?

"You're shaking," Callum whispers. "What did you see?"

"…Nothing. Nothing. It doesn't matter."

"Kevin," Callum pushes, gently. "It's OK. You can tell me."

For a moment, Kevin is just going to insist that it really doesn't matter. That it was only a nightmare, and that he doesn't need – or want – to think about it again.

But… it's Callum. His Callum. The man he's grown to love. And if he can't tell Callum everything… who can he?

"I… saw Desert Bluffs at night, glowing red, and then… then the sky cracked and there was light, only the light _hurt_ , and it felt like every inch of me was on fire. And then… I could hear… well. No one talks about it, but… you know the song?"

There's a very, very odd flicker in Callum's eyes. "Yes," he says, perfectly level. "I know the song."

"Well, I could hear it, but it was… different. And the same. It was… it was cracked and broken and… and… Cal, it was _awful_. I was trying to make it stop, make it change back, but it wouldn't, and everything hurt, and then… then, right at the end, I saw… I…"

He can't quite say it. Can't quite speak ill of such a valued and wonderful city landmark.

"What did you see?" Callum pushes, gently.

"…I saw the Bloodstone. And… the song was coming from it. The beautiful song that's broken underneath. It was coming from the Bloodstone."

"And then?"

"Then I woke up. Thank the Smiling God."

"Indeed." Callum pulls him in closer, and Kevin curls gratefully into the contact. "But you're right. It was just a nightmare. You're OK now."

It's getting easier and easier to believe it, as the worst of the images fade into the night. Kevin lets Callum lie them both back down, pressing tighter against him, comforted by his presence.

"You don't often have nightmares, do you?" Callum asks.

"No. Pretty much never."

"Then hopefully that's the end of it."

"Yes. Yes."

Callum runs a gentle hand down Kevin's arm. "Go back to sleep."

And, slowly, Kevin does; pushing the thoughts of the nightmare aside. After all… it was only a dream.

***

But it happens again. And again. Over the next two weeks, the dream comes more frequently, until it's appearing every night, and always the same: darkness cracking into light, song blending to roar, radiance burning like fire.

And the Bloodstone. Always, always the Bloodstone.

There's more to it than this, though. Just as the dream intrudes on his night, so the thoughts start to intrude on his day. They're subtle at first: flickers of questioning where once there was calm acceptance. He'll report on something, something normal and unremarkable, and then find himself wondering why Strexcorp would do such a thing. Why people don't react to it.

Because, when you step back and think… a lot of life in Desert Bluffs doesn't make sense. Like, why do people obey Strex unquestioningly? Why are the few who do disagree secretly labelled as dissidents and _killed?_

Why don't the Management Board age?

_Why is the whole city covered in blood?_

Kevin can't quite believe the things he's thinking. They are not good things to think. They are bad things, wrong things, _dissident_ things.

Lies. All lies.

All lies that are true.

Even thinking such thoughts _hurts_ , as though his mind is rebelling against having these notions inside it. But the more Kevin thinks them, the more the thoughts grow.

And the more intense the nightmares become.

Night after night, he wakes up shaking in Cal's arms, insisting he's fine, insisting it was just another dream. And Cal, for his part, doesn't push for more than this.

He doesn't seem surprised by it, though, and Kevin isn't sure why.

And then… then comes the night that everything changes. Deep in sleep, he finds himself in the dream again: bathed in burning light, staring at the Bloodstone whilst that broken song echoes in his head; a deafening, agonising roar coming from beyond the world. The dream usually ends here, collapsing under the weight of its own imagined agony, but tonight… tonight it goes on.

The pain builds and builds, the light a torment that persists forever, emanating no longer from the sky, but from the Bloodstone: a pulsing, glittering beacon of everything that is _wrong_ with… with _everything_. He stares at it, blinking through the pain, forcing it back.

He won't give in. Every night he gives in, but this time?

" _Stop_ ," he says. Cries. Gasps. Declares. _Insists_. " _ **Stop!**_ "

The Bloodstone shatters, a swarm of red crystal shards that burst in all directions, shooting through the air, shooting past him, through him, _into_ him, and Kevin cries out, the pain more than his mind can process, for a fleeting, ceaseless instant.

And then he wakes; wakes in darkness, instinctively turning to the side to look for Callum. But the other man isn't there. He isn't there because Kevin is no longer in bed. He's downstairs, in his own living room. All the lights are off, but there's moonlight glowing beyond the curtains, and it's just enough to see by. He's on the floor, on his knees, arms wrapped around himself, whole body shaking.

How did he get here? Kevin doesn't know. He tries to calm his breathing, tries to regain some semblance of control over the situation, and then he looks up… and jumps in horror, instinctively backing away from the sight in front of him.

This is impossible. Impossible. This can't be happening!

But it is. Before him, on the smooth, pale surface of his living room wall, is a convoluted mess of writing: words and sentences and drawings connected in a web of lines and arrows.

It's a crazy-wall. And it's in his handwriting, albeit jagged and distorted, as if it was done whilst he was…

…Smiling God, don't even think it.

And the worst part, the worst thing out of all of this, is waiting for him as he follows the confused lines and words to the centre of the insane ramblings drawn on the wall: a rough but unmistakeable sketch of the Bloodstone, with four words written beneath it; four words that are more coherent and more undeniable than all of the others combined.

Four words that he's seen before.

 _'Destroy at all costs'_.

"…This is not happening…" he whispers, closing his eyes and willing it all to go away. Willing it to reveal itself as a second dream, from which he can wake.

But he opens his eyes, and nothing has changed. The wall is still there, and those four words burn once more into his soul as he looks at them.

 _Destroy at all costs_. It's the same phrase that was written beneath the picture of the Bloodstone on the crazy-wall he found, the day he went on his first mission for Mr Hartley. The day he met Darla. And now… here it is, written in his own hand, and whilst it might just be a lingering memory of what he saw in that office building, Kevin can't fight the unshakeable certainty that it is much, _much_ more than this.

What in the name of the Smiling God is going on? Where are all these dissident thoughts coming from? What is _wrong_ with him?

And what if someone _finds out?_

"…Kevin?"

He nearly jumps a mile, leaping to his feet at the sound of his own name called softly from upstairs. What is he supposed to do now? Paralysed by the sudden indecision, he just stands, staring at the crazy-wall, the renewed adrenaline burning in his blood.

"Kevin?" It's Callum, of course, calling for him a second time, and now Kevin can hear footsteps from the upper floor.

"Uhm… it's OK, I'm fine, I'll be up in a moment…" he calls back.

"You don't sound fine," comes Callum's reply. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Nothing!"

But something clearly is, and Kevin knows Callum is never going to believe him. He just doesn't know what he'll do when Callum, son of one of the five Strexcorp Management Board members, comes down here and sees _this_ scrawled all over the wall.

"OK, Kevin, you're worrying me now," Callum says, as he starts to pace down the stairs, and Kevin briefly wonders about running for the door before realising that he's too horrified by everything to actually move.

And that means he's still standing, staring at the wall, when Callum gets to the bottom of the stairs.

Kevin has a single, eternally-long second to guess at what his boyfriend's reaction might be. Anger? Revulsion? Condemnation? Attack?

But he's wrong. It's none of the above. And, perhaps, so very much worse.

"…Ah. I wondered when this would happen."

That's enough to get Kevin to turn. "…What?" he manages. Fear is not an emotion he's used to feeling, and he doesn't process it well. Not well at all. "You… you're not _surprised?_ "

Callum sighs softly, looking guilty more than anything else. "I was confident it would happen eventually. You're far too self-aware, far too _powerful_ , to stay lulled under forever."

"…Cal, you're scaring me," Kevin says. "And I just woke up to find I'd done _that_ ," he adds, pointing back at the wall. "I… do you..?"

He needs to know. He needs to know but the answer might kill him.

"…Do you know what's happening to me?"

Callum looks down, wrapping his arms around himself. "Yes," he answers, softly. "I'm afraid I do. I realised it must be starting when you told me about the dreams, but I know some people have them on and off for _years_ before…"

"…Before _what?!_ "

Callum meets his eyes, difficult though it seems. "The song of the Bloodstone," he says. "You're fighting it. You're resisting it. And you're strong-willed enough that – slowly but surely – you're slipping out of its control."

Kevin stares back at him. He wants to insist that Callum isn't making any sense, but, on some level, he knows he _is_. He's making a lot of sense.

And that only makes it worse.

"What do you mean?" Kevin asks.

"You must be starting to question things," Callum says, softly. "I know you are. You're trying to keep it hidden, but… you let your guard down around me. You're questioning… everything, really. Why this town is the way it is. Why Strexcorp has absolute power. Maybe even why the Management Board members have all been forty years old for nigh-on half a century."

"I'm not questioning anything!" Kevin protests, knowing as he says the words how completely ridiculous they sound. "I am a loyal employee of this company and a devoted citizen of this town and I would never… I…"

He hears it again, but in the waking world this time: the soft song of the angels blending into something completely different and entirely the same… a broken, bloody roaring in the ceaseless dark.

"Kevin," Callum says, almost gently. "It's… it's OK."

"It isn't OK!" Kevin insists. "I don't know where these thoughts are coming from, but they are _not_ mine!"

"They're yours," Callum replies. "It will take a little longer for you to fully realise that, but… they are."

"No. No. I would never think like this. I… Cal, what's happening to me?"

He needs to know. He doesn't _want_ to know, but he needs to.

"I told you," Callum says, "you're fighting the song of the Bloodstone. No matter what people claim, that _thing_ was actually put there by the Management Board, when they first came to Desert Bluffs. It's what keeps the whole town enthralled – and by that I mean the word literally. _Enthralled_. In a state of thralldom. Most people live their entire lives never realising that they're under its control – under _their_ control – and so they don't question it. Why would they? Why would they ever have need to question when everything in Desert Bluffs is so wonderful? So efficient? So _perfect?_ "

Kevin stares. The words are completely insane, and yet they make absolute sense, and the counterpoint is more than his mind can process.

"But some people," Callum goes on, "some people learn to fight it. They don't do it deliberately – not at first – but it happens gradually, over months and years. They start to question things. Start to ask _why_ the city is this way. Eventually… they learn to hear the song as it really is, and they learn to slip out of its control. And they see the truth."

"…The truth?" Kevin manages, voice cracking.

"The truth," Callum repeats. "That Strexcorp is evil. That the Management Board has this whole town under its thumb."

"The… Callum, your _dad_ is _part_ of that Management Board!"

He is, after all. Aidan Outteridge is one of the five, and hearing his only son say these things is nigh-on as insane as the things themselves.

Callum looks down again. "I know. And I hate it. I hate what he and the others have done to this town. To its _people_."

Kevin actually takes a step back as the truth hits like a blow to the chest. "…You're one of them. One of the dissidents."

"Yes," Callum answers. "Yes, I am."

"I should have seen it sooner. You nigh-on told me as much, the night we met. You work in Logistics!"

"Yes."

"I… did you do this to me?"

Callum looks pained. He tries to move closer, but Kevin backs off even more, holding up a hand, and Callum seems to take the hint. "No, Kevin," he answers. "I didn't do this to you. No one _did_ this to you. It happened because you're starting to fight the Bloodstone, because your mind is breaking free. Because you're slowly understanding how _wrong_ everything is."

"Then… then… why..?"

"…Why am I with you?" Callum surmises, and it hurts to hear him give it voice. "I'm with you because I fell for you. Because I love you. And… yes, I hoped that one day this would happen. But it wouldn't have changed anything if it didn't."

"You _wanted_ this to happen to me? My whole world just fell apart!"

Callum shakes his head. "No. No, it didn't. It fell apart long before you were even born. You're just seeing the truth of it at last. And I know it isn't easy. How could something like this ever be easy? But… I can help you. I can help you if you let me."

"How?" Kevin asks, caught between wanting no more of this, and desperately needing to make it all make sense.

"…By giving you answers. Though… some of those answers may make everything worse before it gets better." Callum sighs softly again, and holds out his hand. "You need to trust me. Please, Kevin."

He needs to know. He needs to know too badly to push all this away. Kevin relents, stepping in closer and letting Callum wrap arms around him, and… oh, but he needs this. Needs some sense that the world hasn't gone entirely insane.

"All right," Kevin whispers. "All right."

After a moment, Callum lets go and meets his eyes, before gesturing to the crazy-wall. "At heart," he says, "there is one question that you need to ask. One question above all the others, which will either fully or partially explain everything. Whenever people try to work this out, they get as far as you have. As far as the Bloodstone. And they're almost right: destroying it _would_ give a lot of answers, if only because that psychic song would no longer be able to blur the truth. But the truly crucial question is one that can be asked – and answered – regardless of what happens to the Bloodstone. And, even with prompting, I've only ever seen one person ask it of their own volition. Do you know what that question is?"

To begin with, there are simply too many questions for Kevin to even think about which one might be somehow more crucial than any of the others. Only… then he realises, and it makes his whole body go cold, even before he gives it voice and sees the reaction in Callum's bright blue eyes.

"…Where did the Management Board come from?"

"Got it in one," Callum responds. "I knew you would. Are you ready to hear the answer?"

No. No, Kevin is not ready to hear the answer. His life is too entwined with that of the Management Board for him to _ever_ be ready to hear the answer.

"Yes," he says. "Yes, I'm ready. Tell me."

Callum stares at him for a moment that lasts a breath and an eternity before he speaks. "They're demons. Highborn demons from the First Infernal Plane."

Every word is like a whipcrack to the chest. Kevin suddenly can't breathe. "… _Demons?_ " he whispers. " _How?_ Demons can only appear on this plane if they're summoned, and they can only stay short-term… but the Management Board have been here for _decades_."

"Very true," Callum answers. "And under normal circumstances, you'd be quite right. But nothing about this is normal. The five of them came here through a planar gateway that was opened in a very complicated ritual performed by the Coven of the Sun, and led by Susan Hartley. Susan _Darby_ as she was back then. Susan is one of the most powerful summoners in human history. She would have given even the high priests of ancient Babylon a run for their money, and that's saying something. She became leader of the coven when she was barely out of her teens and, with their help, she opened a planar gateway of sufficient power to let the five members of the Management Board cross through it."

Kevin just keeps staring. "…Why?" he manages, finally.

Callum gives a little shrug. "She had been communing with one of them. No prizes for guessing who. They communed extensively for some time and, in the end, Susan found a way to bring him here, with his allies in tow."

"… _Why?_ "

"Make no mistake, Susan Darby wasn't some simpering girl who got herself bewitched by a demon and tricked into letting him through. Even back then, she was a powerful woman who knew exactly what she was doing, and got exactly what she wanted out of it. And is _still_ getting exactly what she wanted out of it."

"But… they look human."

"Yes, they look human," Callum says, nodding. "It's how Susan was able to keep them here long-term. They're demons, but they're bound in human form. It limits their powers somewhat, but it also prevents the fabric of reality from rupturing, which is what would happen if they walked this plane in their true forms for any length of time. And they don't age because they're _very_ long-lived. Not immortal, but they look it by human standards."

"I… wait. Wait. You. _You_. You're Aidan Outteridge's son. And if he's a demon, then…"

Kevin is not sure why it's taken him so long to get to this realisation, but on some level he suspects it's a combination of shock and frantic denial. But now he _has_ got to this realisation, it hits so hard that for a moment he can barely see, never mind breathe. He takes several steps back, hand instinctively drifting to where his knife would be, if he was wearing it.

Callum looks a mixture of resigned and accepting. "Yes," he says, softly. "I'm his son. And he's a demon. And my mother, before you ask, is human."

"So… you're…"

"…Half-human," Callum answers. "And half-demon."

"…And you never told me?!"

"I'm telling you now," Callum says, voice full of pain. "I couldn't have told you before. Even if I did, the Bloodstone would just push it out of your head again. Smiling God, for all you know, I _have_ told you before!"

"I could _forget_ something like that?"

"Yes. Under the thrall of the Bloodstone, you could forget pretty much anything."

Kevin still doesn't move closer again. He doesn't dare. "So… you're…"

"Half-highborn demon," Callum re-iterates. "And no, before you ask, I'm not immortal, although the chances are I'll live well past a hundred. And _physically_ , I'm human. I'm not bound in this form, I _am_ this form, same as you. The only difference is that I have demon blood, which gives me certain… characteristics."

"…Like what?" Kevin manages, not entirely sure how much more of this he can take.

"Well, a being with demon blood can only be killed by another being with demon blood, or by an extra-planar weapon."

"So… if I were to stab you..?"

Callum shrugs. "It would hurt. There would be blood. It might _slow_ me down, but it wouldn't _take_ me down."

"Which means… your dad, and… and Mr Hartley and the others, they…"

"…All very difficult to kill," Callum confirms. "It's another reason they wanted to come here."

"And…" Kevin feels suddenly like he's been hit in the chest for the Smiling-God-knows-what-time. "…The other Board offspring. The Belmonte twins. Lauren. _Naomi_. They're…"

"…All half-demon too, yes," Callum says.

"But… I… Naomi is practically my best friend, and she never…"

"Kevin, what could she have done?" Callum pushes, gently, taking a step towards him again. "I told you… if you were still in the Bloodstone's power, it would just push the truth back out of your mind. And even if it _didn't_ … what good would it do? Naomi knows what happens to people in this town who find out too much. They end up dead. It's safer this way, for both of you."

"So the partners of the Management Board members… they don't know either?"

Callum looks down. "Oh, they know. They're all active or former members of the Coven of the Sun. They _want_ the Board here. They _want_ things the way they are. They're not directly affected by the Bloodstone because they already want what it wants, so it doesn't need to influence them in any way."

"And… Darla?"

"I don't know," Callum admits. "You would have to ask Naomi. But, given Darla's proclivities, not to mention her strength of will… I suspect she knows. It might be because she accepts the way things are, or it might be because she has broken free and is smart enough to keep it hidden. Most people who do… can't."

"The dissidents," Kevin surmises. "They're all people who have realised the truth?"

Callum nods. "Yes. They've realised the truth, and they're trying to do something about it."

"And… it gets them killed."

"More often than not, yes. A few simply disappear. An even lesser few get pushed back under. But most…"

The fresh realisation hits, and Kevin wraps his arms around himself, trying to fight the very real pain that is now dawning on him. "The people Mr Hartley sends me to kill," he says, voice hollow. "They… they're…"

"They're people who've broken free," Callum confirms, softly. "But it isn't your fault. When you're under the thrall of the Bloodstone, how could you know?"

"But I've been _killing_ people who are… who were…"

It's too much. It's far, far too much. Kevin throws his arms around Callum and holds on tight, shaking bodily, needing the world to go back to being safe and normal and bright and…

…No, no, he can't go back to that. Not now he knows how much of a lie it is.

Callum wraps him in, seeming relieved that Kevin still wants the contact. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'm so sorry you have to go through all this."

For a moment, Kevin just lets the other man hold him, and then another thought crosses his mind and he jumps back. "Why doesn't the song affect you?" he asks. "I mean, you're obviously opposed to what the Board has done. Did you have to break free of it too, or..?"

"I can't hear it," Callum answers, looking almost guilty. "The Board can't hear it, and nor can their children. The Bloodstone is their weapon, remember? They deployed it. And they're immune to it. Or, more specifically, those with demon blood are immune to it."

"So… you _chose_ to rebel?"

"Yes. I've known for years what the Board does. What they've _done_. I couldn't accept it, so I've been quietly helping other people to fight back. It's risky, yes, and sometimes I wonder if I do more harm than good. But… I couldn't just sit idly by. Naomi knows. She agrees with me in principle, but she thinks taking action now would just get us killed. Maybe she's right. As for the others… Lauren, and Zara and Tamsen… they're all firmly in favour of what the Board is doing. Lauren especially. She's very much her father's daughter."

"Don't I know it…" Kevin agrees, a little wryly.

"And I should tell you," Callum goes on, "a number of us have been waiting for the day when you would finally break free. We've known that it must only be a matter of time."

"Me? Why would you be interested in me?"

"Because you're strong. Because we could see your potential. And most of all… because Terry Carver believed in you."

Kevin stares. "Terry? But… he was Mr Hartley's fixer before me. He was instrumental in taking down more dissidents than the entire enforcer unit combined."

"Yes," Callum says. "Yes, he was. He was also one of the most influential dissidents in the entire group."

"What? How?!"

"He broke free. He broke free and managed to keep it hidden. I think he may have done it on an earlier occasion as well, but it was before I was involved in all this."

"…He broke free more than once?"

Callum nods, eyes grave. "Yes. I think so. Usually when people break free and get caught, Strexcorp has them killed. Some get severance packages. Some get a visit from you, or Terry before you. But occasionally… occasionally there are people who break free and are pushed back under. People that Strexcorp still has a use for."

"How?" Kevin asks, voice shaking a little in horror.

"They're made to touch the Bloodstone. Actually _touching_ it amplifies its effects dramatically. That's usually enough to push the person under – in the short term, at least – and then… then they're taken off for re-education. By the time they return… well. Let's just say their loyalty issues have been dealt with."

"And… you think that Terry..?"

"I think he had broken free in the past," Callum replies. "Maybe once, maybe more. And, for whatever reason – his usefulness to Strex, I would imagine – they had him pushed back under rather than killed. He was Mr Hartley's fixer, after all."

"…So am _I_ ," Kevin points out.

"Yes," Callum says, softly. Sadly, perhaps. "Yes, you are. And that means you face a very difficult decision, because if you choose to act on the truths you now know and you get caught in the process, there is a significant risk that – rather than the quick release of death – you'd end up being pushed back under instead. And whilst this would mean your continued living, I understand the process is… not pleasant. Standard re-education practices are nothing compared to what it takes to re-program someone who has gone dissident."

Kevin shivers, and Callum pulls him in again, holding onto him.

"But… the alternative…"

"Yes," Callum says once more. "The alternative is to try to live your life without giving away the fact that you know the truth. Some people can manage it. Some people _do_ manage it. I don't know how many citizens out there are free of the Bloodstone's control, but there will be at least a few; hiding. _Waiting_. But if you want to go down that road… you have to remember what it entails. You would have to keep acting convincingly. Keep doing all the things that Strexcorp expects of you. That _Hartley_ expects of you… and that includes killing people for him. And, yes, you could do what Terry did and send advance warning to the targets, so that slightly less of them would be there when you turned up, but in the end… in the end you would still have to kill a lot of people."

"I can't do that," Kevin whispers, meeting his eyes. "I mean… yes, I can kill people and… and, OK, yes, I can't deny that I've _enjoyed_ it perhaps more than I should, but… I don't kill for fun. I kill for necessity. And I couldn't just _murder_ innocent people simply to protect my own cover!"

Callum looks pleased to hear this. Pleased… and pained, too. Because they both know what it means.

"If you can't live like that, Kevin, then you only have one other option. You have to act against Strexcorp. And that means you have to be prepared for the consequences should you fail."

It's too horrible to think about. Far, far too horrible. But Kevin stands by what he's said: he can't just kill innocent people. He _can't_.

"…Then what do I do?" he whispers. "Whatever it is… it would have to be quick. And decisive."

Callum looks suddenly a little guilty. "I… have a plan," he admits. "It's something I've been mulling over for quite some time, but when I realised you were having the dreams, I stepped it up. I… wanted to have something thought out, so that I could offer it to you. So that I could give you some focus to help you through this."

"What is it?" Kevin asks, voice shaking.

"The only action that will make any difference in the long run is destroying the Bloodstone," Callum re-iterates. "Even if we went up against the Management Board directly and somehow managed to _win_ , the majority of Desert Bluffs would turn on us. We can't hope to do anything until that hateful _thing_ is gone."

"How do we destroy it? Explosives?"

This gets him a very wry smile. "Sadly not," Callum answers. "Someone tried that about… oh, must be a decade or so ago now. They were well-organised, too. They managed to get hold of some military-grade explosives – from Red Mesa, I believe – and planted them all round the base of the Bloodstone. Pretty much obliterated the entire plaza – Strex had to come up with a story about a planned renovation project to explain it away – but didn't even leave a scratch on the Bloodstone. Cursed thing just sat there in the middle of its own crater, glowing and singing like it was _pleased_ with itself."

"But you _do_ have a plan?" Kevin pushes, needing to know. Needing some answer, _any_ answer, so he can move forward from this.

"I do, yes," Callum says. "There aren't any experts in mystical rocks left in Desert Bluffs – I'm sure we have Strex to thank for that, too – but I managed to find the writings of one who was active back in the Seventies. He believed that there were certain rituals that had the ability to overwhelm even an object as large as the Bloodstone, cancelling out the song with such intensity that the thing would literally rip itself apart in an attempt to fight back."

"And… you think that would work?"

"Yes. But I couldn't do it alone. Otherwise I would have tried by now. I need someone with sufficient otherworldly power and a working knowledge of dark magic."

"Callum, I don't have otherworldly power. I'm human, remember? Human with human blood."

Another wry little smile. "I know that," Callum answers. "Otherworldly power isn't about being extra-planar. It's innate talent. It's what makes people good summoners. And, though Strex hasn't let you try anything complicated yet… I know you're a natural. I can _feel_ the way the edges of the plane bend around you. And as for the dark magic part, well… you were a Boy Scout, right?"

"Right. And yes, OK, I learned some dark magic along the way, but nothing complex. Just what all Boy Scouts learn as standard."

"That will be enough," Callum tells him. "So long as you've done the basics, I can guide you through the rest."

It sounds insane. Completely, utterly insane. But Kevin knows, now, that he doesn't have an alternative. His world has shattered, revealing the fractured hell beyond the veil, and there's no way he can just carry on as if everything is fine.

Everything is not fine. And it never has been.

"All right," he answers. "All right. I'll help you do this."

Callum smiles, and pulls him in close again. "I love you, you know," he whispers.

"I know. I love you too."


	8. Atorogo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is it. If you've read _Songs of the Enantiomers_ , there will be some familiar themes here... but without the deer-ex-machina to make it all better.

**Atorogo**

_Human_

***

It takes a couple of days for Callum to make the preparations for his plan, and they're perhaps the longest days of Kevin's life.

Mercifully, Mr Hartley doesn't call him in, but he still has to carry on as if everything is normal. It's the only time that presenting his radio show has ever been anything but an easy joy because, with every word, he has to fight the urge to lock the door and shout out the truth on air, for all to hear.

 _It's a lie. You're all living a lie. Strexcorp is evil and if we don't act, we'll never be free_.

Then the third day rolls around, and with it the news that Kevin has been waiting for.

"I'm ready," Callum tells him, when they meet for totally innocuous coffee in the middle of the day. "I have the invocations all worked out. We… can do this as soon as you give the word."

"Me?" Kevin says.

"Yes," Callum replies, taking his hand and holding it tight. "I'm not going to make you do this. Not when the consequences of failure are so desperately high."

"But I want to do it. I _need_ to do it. I don't know how I can keep on living with this _truth_ burning away at me. So… tonight?"

Callum nods. "Tonight."

***

The Bloodstone Plaza is quiet and still when they arrive. It's a good few hours after dark, and the sky overhead is awash with glittering stars. The plaza itself is partly lit by golden lamps held by statues at its four corners, but primarily lit by the Bloodstone, sitting at the core of it all and glowing a deep, vibrant, angry red.

The two of them have come on foot, walking from Callum's apartment building a few blocks away. There's no one else with them – the risk is too great – and no one else around.

People don't often go out late in Desert Bluffs. Certainly not in the city core. It's safer to stay indoors.

Kevin and Callum stand, side by side, on the edge of the Bloodstone Plaza, staring at the very thing they've come here to destroy. The psychic song echoes in Kevin's head, agonisingly loud, blending constantly between angel song and broken roar as it tries – but fails – to pull him back under its control.

He knows what it's doing. He's had three days to practice resisting it. But here, now, standing and looking at the thing… is even harder than he imagined. The song thunders in his head and the light burns against his skin, making his eyes hurt, making him want to drop down and surrender…

… _give in, give in, give in_ …

"Tell me what to do," he says to Callum, gripping the other man's arm. "My head feels like it's going to explode. Tell me what to do."

"We need to get close to it," Callum says. "I'm sorry. It's going to make the effects even worse."

"I know. I know. But I won't let it stop me. Not now."

"All right. Then we get close to it. But whatever you do, Kevin, don't touch it. Not even for a fleeting second. If you touch it…"

"…It's game over," Kevin says, nodding. Understanding. "I know."

"I need to draw a number of sigils on it," Callum goes on. "I can touch it without it hurting me, because of my demon blood. I draw the sigils, and then we perform the ritual. Have you got it memorised?"

"Yes. I spent all my free time this afternoon going over it, whenever no one was looking. My Dzy-an-thyl isn't great, but I think my pronunciation will be good enough."

"OK. OK." Callum hesitates a moment, staring at the Bloodstone, taking a deep breath. "We can do this," he says. "We can. I know we can. But… but… if we don't…"

Kevin turns to face him, putting both hands on Callum's shoulders. "Cal. Don't even think it. Don't you even _try_ saying goodbye to me. Either this works, and we destroy that thing, or it doesn't, and we… we run. But we run together. I'm not leaving you. I'm not _losing_ you."

Callum nods, resting their foreheads together. "Agreed," he whispers. "And if you feel that thing slipping too deep into your head…"

"I'll tell you," Kevin promises. "So you can pull me back."

They grip hands, and then turn, crossing the empty road and walking across the plaza, towards the Bloodstone. The song builds and builds with every step, an agony that will not cease, and Kevin doesn't quite know how he's managing to keep going.

But he does. He has to. He _will_.

He stands – far too close to the Bloodstone for comfort – as Callum starts to draw out the sigils onto the smoother, flatter faces of the great glowing crystal, marking out the complex patterns in thick charcoal. Under different circumstances it would be fascinating – and beautiful – to watch, but right now Kevin can't focus on it nearly as much as he would like.

And then – finally – Callum steps back and looks at him. "It's done," he says. "Are you ready?"

Kevin nods. "Yes," he answers. He has never been more ready. Or less ready.

"All right. This thing will try to fight back as the incantation takes hold. Keep your eyes on me and don't look at it, no matter what you hear or feel or think you see. You promise?"

"I promise."

They stand close to the Bloodstone, close to the point where the largest of the sigils is drawn, and face each other. Kevin holds his arms out in front of him, palms facing up, and Callum does the same, palms facing down, pressing their hands together.

For a moment, the outer world is silent and the inner world roars with a hell that seems unending, and then… then, in unison, they begin to chant the incantation that Callum has prepared. It's in Dzy-an-thyl, but Kevin knows what it means; knows what every word, every phrase, is leading towards.

And as they speak, as they chant, he can feel the Bloodstone fighting back; feel the song intensifying, so loud and terrible inside his head that only the look in Callum's eyes keeps him going. Will this work? _Can_ this work?

It has to. It has to work.

The chant builds; the very air around them seeming to rise up, hot and electric and tasting of copper, stronger and stronger until they shout out the last two lines of the incantation… two lines that sum everything up far, far too well.

_"By blood, by blade, by the names of the lost,_  
_Be thus destroyed, at any cost."_

Lightning lances across the cloudless sky, deep red and terrible, and the whole world seems to shake as though caught in the grip of some unexpected tremor. The Bloodstone, glowing so brightly that in intensity alone it is painful to look at, seems suddenly to flicker, sparks coursing along its facets from within, as though blood within veins. And then… a sharp crack blossoms out from the central sigil, spreading across the surface of the stone like a wound…

…and then halting.

Stillness. Silence. And the Bloodstone endures.

Kevin and Callum drop their hands, staring at it in shock.

"…It didn't work," Kevin whispers. "Smiling God, it didn't work."

" _Of course it didn't work_ ," comes a voice from off to the side; a voice that fills Kevin with a horror beyond anything he can process.

Within seconds, enforcers have emerged from the shadows all around the plaza, blades drawn and flashing red in the enduring glow from the Bloodstone. They're surrounded. They're completely surrounded, and comprehensively outnumbered.

" _No_ ," Callum breathes, staring at Kevin. "We have to get out of here. We have to _run_."

The other man is terrified. Kevin can see it in his eyes. He himself can't deny feeling the same, except… there's a sharpness behind it. An awareness that he can still fight. That he can still get them out of this.

Survive first. Worry about the rest later.

"We fight," Kevin declares, drawing his knife and feeling a sense of relief when Callum immediately does the same. "We fight, we break through them, and we meet up at the place we agreed. Right, Cal?"

"Right," Callum answers. " _Right_."

And so, blades at the ready, they launch at the closest enforcers. Kevin's first target goes down in seconds, completely unprepared for the fury with which he's attacked, and then Kevin pulls the knife back, blood-streaked and bared, advancing on the next enforcer who dares to get close.

He won't let them win. He will not let them win.

Off to the side, Kevin can see Callum fighting with the same determination, as they both struggle to break through the ring of enforcers. As they both struggle to get _out_.

They have to. They _have_ to.

" _Enough of this_ ," declares the speaker Kevin can't think about; voice carrying over the plaza. Seconds later, the enforcers suddenly attack him en masse; a swarm of black and orange, as if they're some great amorphous entity as opposed to a group of people. But they're not trying to kill him. Not now. Not yet. He realises it too late, as the enforcers pin him to the blood-covered ground, disarming him and then dragging him to his feet once more, arms held behind his back.

He's caught. And a look off to the side reveals that Callum is already victim of the same.

They're both caught.

The horror is overwhelming, mind-blanking, agonising, and for several seconds Kevin can't think. Can't act. He can barely breathe. And then the unseen speaker from the side of the plaza paces forwards into view, the mere sight of him making Kevin feel as though he's been stabbed squarely in the chest; as though all the pain in all the world would somehow be preferable to this moment.

The speaker is Derek Hartley. He advances across the blood-strewn square towards where his wayward employee is being held back by three enforcers, vivid blue eyes seeming to glow as if with some unspoken malice. He seems as human as ever… on the surface, at least. But when Kevin looks more closely, when he manages to fight through the fear and focus, he's sure he can see the shadow of something else lingering all around the other man: something huge and terrifying and twisted, betraying who he really is.

 _What_ he really is.

" _Kevin_ ," Hartley says, softly; his voice a blessing and a curse that cuts Kevin to the core. "I must admit… I am impressed. It took Terry _years_ to get to this point. You really are _quite_ something."

"So are you," Kevin throws back, going for broke. He knows he's not getting out of this, now. Knows there's nothing he can do to save himself, and though that's a horrific thought, it also comes with a certain sense of peace. Of acceptance. He tried and he failed, but at least he tried. All he can hope for now is to goad Hartley into killing him, because the alternative… still doesn't bear thinking about.

And Cal. Surely Hartley will spare Cal? The man is one of the Management Board children, after all.

Hartley laughs. "Oh, aren't I just? I take it young Outteridge Junior here told you everything?"

" _Everything_ ," Kevin hisses. "That you and the rest of the board are demons. That this hateful rock is your doing. That it keeps this town, _my_ town, enthralled and blood-soaked. That you've been lying to everyone for half a century."

Hartley looks unfazed. "Impressive, isn't it? Amazing what a little extra-planar influence can do. See what we built in so short a time. We took this tiny backwater and transformed it into a corporate powerhouse. A beacon of efficiency and productivity. I still can't fathom why anyone would be opposed to that. Look at the other towns around here. Look at Night Vale. They're _aeons_ behind us in every way possible, and perhaps one day we'll prove that to them. Would you really rather be so backward and restricted when you could have all of _this?_ "

" _Yes_ ," Kevin retorts. "Nothing is worth what you've done to us. The oppression. The lies. The _murder_."

This gets him a coldly amused look. "Don't preach to me about murder, Kevin. In the last couple of years you've _murdered_ quite a number of people for me."

"Because I thought I was doing the right thing. Because you _lied_ to me. I trusted you. I respected you. I _worshipped_ you. And for what? So you could _use_ me like this?"

"Yes," Hartley answers, flatly. "Yes. And oh, how useful you have been. Such a valuable asset to this company… and to me."

He reaches out, trailing fingertips along the side of Kevin's jaw, and the touch makes his breath catch in shock, made worse as Hartley slips those fingers under his chin and makes him look up, forcing eye-contact.

"I never will be again," Kevin declares, trying to sound something other than terrified out of his mind. "So this is it. At least have the guts to kill me yourself."

Hartley stares at him for a moment before letting go of his jaw and breaking into a laugh. "Oh, Kevin, Kevin, you really think you still have some control over all this, don't you? You have no idea how wrong you are. Terry was the same. He'd get that look in his eyes, the same one you have, every time."

These words are like a fresh blow to the chest and, held as he is, Kevin still manages to recoil in horror. "…What..?" he manages.

"Terry Carver," Hartley re-iterates, solely for effect. "He must have gone through a phase like this… four times? And on each occasion, he'd try to get me to kill him. He was so sure he could just push my buttons, unleash the demon within, and make me end him right here in this very plaza. Ah, how wrong he was. Except the last time, of course. The last time… I decided enough was enough. After all, by then I had you, and you… I already knew you would surpass Terry in every way. Too bad that likely includes a tendency towards nights like _this_ as well as the rest of it. So the last time, when he goaded me… I gave him what he wanted. And the shock in his eyes was priceless, Kevin. _Priceless_."

"You _monster_ ," Kevin gasps, agonised. "You told me he was killed that afternoon, by… by dissidents…"

Hartley's smile brightens. "And compared to some of the things I've told you, that one was surprisingly close to the truth. He was killed the previous _night_ , and he was _with_ dissidents. Though it was me who drove the blade into his chest."

At this point, his eyes flick over to where Callum is standing, held between a pair of enforcers, watching all of this in horror, and the intent in Hartley's expression is obvious.

" _No_ ," Kevin says, as firmly as he can. "No. You do whatever you want to me, but you don't touch Cal."

For a moment, Hartley looks almost affronted by the demand… until something makes his smile even worse. "All right," he says, softly. "All right. If that's how you want this to be…"

He pauses, just long enough to let the obvious threat in those words sink in, and then flicks his eyes to the enforcers holding Kevin. "Take him to the Bloodstone. Make him touch it. But only for a few seconds. I don't want to push him too far under just yet…"

" _No!_ " Callum cries, the horror in his voice unhidden. "Don't. Derek, please don't. Don't do this." He's begging – flat-out begging – and it takes Kevin a moment to process just why his boyfriend is desperate enough to resort to it. And that realisation hits so hard that, for several seconds, he can't breathe. Touching the Bloodstone will be hell, yes, but it is nothing, nothing, _nothing_ compared to what might follow after.

But there's no way to stop it. Kevin tries, though, fighting against the enforcers holding him as they drag him up to the Bloodstone. The song reverberates inside his head, and he can _feel_ how pleased the thing is. How _glad_ it is to have won.

And he has never, in his whole life, _hated_ something the way he hates this thing. He fights to hold onto that thought, to let it fill him up, to use it as a weapon, as a defence, desperate to stop what's coming.

He can't. They reach the Bloodstone, and – without risking any kind of hesitation – the enforcers seize his wrists and slam both of his hands against the cracked, shimmering facet.

For a second… he sees it. _Feels_ it. Inside his mind, the sky splits open and burning light pours down on him… and then it's gone. It's all gone. The pain and the terror and the confusion are all swept aside, to be replaced with a cool, calm peace. Certainty. Serenity. _Loyalty_.

It's fine. It's all fine. Everything. Everything is fine.

Strexcorp has him. Desert Bluffs has him; held in its tender embrace, and all the terrible things of this night are gone. All gone.

The enforcers pull him back from the Bloodstone, and then let go of him completely. For a moment, Kevin merely stands where he is, staring at the soothing red light, listening to the gentle song, feeling all of his certainty come back. All of his surety.

It's wonderful. It's perfect. It's _right_.

He turns. He turns and sees Derek Hartley staring over at him, brilliant eyes glittering blue in the night, a smile on his face. He'd do anything for this man. For Desert Bluffs. For Strexcorp.

"Kevin," Hartley breathes.

"Sir?" his fixer replies.

"I need you to do something for me, right here and right now. Something _very_ important."

"Name it."

Hartley looks over at Callum Outteridge, and smiles. And _smiles_.

"This man is a dissident, and an enemy of Strexcorp. I want you to kill him."

"Derek, no," Callum whispers. "Kill me if that's how it has to be, but please, _please_ don't make Kevin do it."

"You should have listened to your father, boy," Hartley says, finally deigning to turn his attention in Callum's direction. "You betrayed everything we stand for. There can be only one answer to that."

He's right, of course. For those who would act against Strexcorp, there is only one ultimate fate. And it is a blessing, a _privilege_ , to uphold the company honour.

Hartley draws his own knife with a snap, flipping it around and offering it to Kevin, hilt-first. "Do it for me," he purrs. "Kill him with my blade."

" _Yes, sir_ ," Kevin replies, rapt. _Delighted_.

He takes the knife – which is heavier than his own, with elaborate carvings twisting from pommel to hilt – and advances on Callum. This is what Strexcorp wants.

This is what Strexcorp _demands_.

Callum stares at Kevin. The enforcers are still holding him, but he's stopped struggling and now seems to be shaking, _trembling_ , tears in his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Kevin," he whispers. "I'm so sorry. When the day finally comes, when you're free, when you _remember_ … just know that I am sorry."

"Oh, Callum," Kevin says, feeling the words rise unbidden within him, "don't you see? I'm already free. I have never been more free…"

He puts a hand on Callum's shoulder and, blade flashing, stabs him squarely in the chest.

And that… perhaps through Hartley's bidding… is when the illusion snaps. The temporary grip of the Bloodstone falls away and Kevin's mind is – for the moment – lucid again… in time to see precisely what he's just done. Horror alone makes him tug the blade back, dropping it to the floor with a metallic clatter that reverberates across the plaza, seconds before Callum Outteridge falls to the blood-streaked ground.

The enforcers step aside. Maybe because they know they're no longer needed. Maybe to let Hartley watch.

" _Cal!_ " Kevin cries, dropping to his knees next to his boyfriend. "Cal, oh Smiling God, speak to me. Speak to me, Cal!"

He claps both hands over the wound in Callum's chest, hot blood spilling out against his palms. Trying, desperately – hopelessly – to make it stop.

But he can't. On some level, he knows it. Knows it's too late.

Gasping, fading, Callum grips his arm. "I'm sorry," he manages. "I'm sorry."

" _I love you_ ," Kevin cries. "Just hold on, Cal. Just hold on!"

"It's too late," Callum murmurs. "I…"

The light in his eyes seems to go out at that, and he drops back.

And he's gone.

For a long, long moment, all Kevin can do is stare at the body of the man he loves, mind so completely shattered by the realisation of what he's done that nothing could ever make it right. And then the rage hits, a bright, burning hate that rushes through him like flame across gasoline, all of it focused on one source. One man.

Kevin picks up the knife at his side and leaps to his feet, launching at Derek Hartley without giving it a second thought. The enforcers are ready for him, though, and they seize hold of him before he can get close enough to the man to _hurt him_ as much as Kevin needs to right now. The renewed wave of grief doesn't hit until they've gotten the knife out of his hand, and then he almost collapses to his knees again; only the grip of the enforcers holding him upright.

Hartley takes his knife back from the enforcer who has hold of it, calmly sheathing the blade before stepping in close once more. "Well, now," he says, softly. "I hope you've learned a valuable lesson here."

"Just kill me," Kevin whispers. "Please. Don't make me live with this."

"Oh, Kevin, it's going to be all right," Hartley tells him, in a voice that could, in a different world, be described as soothing. He reaches out, fingertips tracing down his wayward fixer's cheek, and Kevin recoils from the touch as far as he can. "In a week or so, this will all be gone from your mind. You'll be just _fine_ again: bright and happy and productive. And loyal. So very loyal. I do so prefer you that way. And I'll be there for you, when you find out how poor, beautiful Callum was murdered by dissidents. It will be painful, oh yes. But it will rather renew your drive to bring down all those terrible, _evil_ enemies of Strexcorp, won't it?"

"…I'll break free again," Kevin declares. "However long it takes, I will."

"I don't doubt it," Hartley answers. "From a person of your ability, your strength of mind, I'd expect nothing less. Maybe try not to involve your boyfriend next time, hmm? This really was harder than it needed to be."

"You're a _monster_."

Hartley claps a hand to his own chest. "Demon, remember? And so very, _very_ good at what I do…"

He gestures to the Bloodstone. "Make him touch it again. For longer this time. I don't want him resisting any further until you get him to the re-education facility. He does have _quite_ a talent for causing trouble."

"This isn't over," Kevin gasps, as the enforcers pull him over to the Bloodstone once more. "This _isn't_ over!"

"Kevin," Hartley purrs, "you're quite right. This has only just begun. I'll see you on the flipside…"

The enforcers push him forward, and Kevin feels his hands slam into the Bloodstone.

The world is hell.

The world is fire.

…The world is bright, and radiant, and wonderful.

And everything is fine.

***

Kevin awakes on a morning like any other. Golden sunlight streams in through the gaps in his bedroom curtains, full of promise, and he smiles to himself as he gets ready for the day ahead.

When he makes it to the radio station, he's greeted by Daniel, typical scowl still very much in place.

"Well, look who's back," the other man says, sounding thoroughly unimpressed. "How was your unexpected vacation?"

"Unexpected!" Kevin enthuses. "Thanks for covering for me at such short notice."

"I didn't exactly have much choice," Daniel reminds him. "But hey, when HR calls and tells you to authorise vacation time then and there, you don't argue. Where did you go on this impromptu and wholly unhelpfully-scheduled trip of yours, anyway?"

"Svitz," Kevin answers.

"…Was it worth it?"

Kevin beams. "Oh yes. It's a wonderful place."

***

Kevin spends the day in a calm, contented haze. Much as it is fun to go away, it's _always_ good to come back, and he is so glad to be here again. Maybe once he's done at the radio station, he'll give Cal a call and arrange to meet up. It's been strange going away without him, but everyone needs a little me-time, and besides, it will make their reunion all the more lovely.

Once the show is over, Kevin returns to his office to finish up a few things before he leaves. He doesn't get far into it, though, because a short while later he hears his cellphone ring, and picks it up from where it's lying on the desk, glancing at the screen.

He jumps at once. It's Derek Hartley, on his personal line.

"Hello?" he says, taking the call immediately.

"Kevin," comes the other man's voice, sounding uncharacteristically grave. "Where are you?"

"Still at the radio station, just finishing up on some work."

"I need you to come in. I can't do this over the phone. You need to come in immediately."

"At once, sir. Where are you? At HQ?"

"No. Kevin… I'm at Callum Outteridge's apartment building."

The bottom falls out of the world, and Kevin finds himself gripping the edge of the desk, as though genuinely afraid that reality might be about to go sideways. "…What?" he manages, voice shaking.

"Just come quickly."

Kevin doesn't need telling again. He bolts out the door, as fast as he can.

***

Callum Outteridge's apartment block is right at the heart of Desert Bluffs, a short distance from the HQ tower and, indeed, the Bloodstone Plaza. When Kevin arrives, the building is surrounded by enforcers, along with a number of their orange and black patrol cars, and completely blocked off.

He hurries over to the cordon, finding his way immediately barred by a particularly tall pair of men, knives drawn.

"This building is off-limits until further notice," one of them says.

"Let him through, you idiot," a third enforcer cuts in, hurrying over. "You know what Mr Hartley said."

"Where is he?" Kevin demands at once.

"Outteridge's apartment," the third enforcer says. "Top floor."

The second they step out of his way, Kevin sets off running, through the broad double-doors of the building and into the main lobby. There are more enforcers here, one of whom points to the elevator doors.

"Go straight up."

The ascent to the top is a quick and ceaseless hell. Kevin tries to keep his emotions in check, tries not to let them overwhelm him, but he's terrified as to where all this is going.

Terrified that he already knows.

The elevator doors sweep open onto the upper lobby. There's only one apartment on this floor – Callum's penthouse – and the door to it is already ajar, a pair of enforcers flanking the way forwards.

Kevin hurries past them – into the central hallway of the penthouse – only to run immediately into Derek Hartley, who turns to face him, putting a hand on his chest.

"Kevin," he says, softly. "Kevin, you need to be prepared for this."

"Where is he?" Kevin asks, more sharply than he would if he had time to think on the words. "Where's Cal?"

Hartley doesn't flinch. If anything, he looks strangely sad. For a moment, he keeps hold of Kevin and then, without a word, he steps aside, letting Kevin see the sight beyond.

The apartment is in disarray: blood everywhere, furniture upturned, and lying at the centre of it all is…

Callum. It's Callum. He's flat on his back, chest coated in blood, and he's clearly, undeniably dead.

Kevin falls to his knees, clapping both hands over his mouth in shock. In _horror_. For a long moment he can't think, can't move, can't _breathe_ , and then he scrambles over to where Cal is lying, seizing hold of his hand and gripping it tight.

"Cal…" he murmurs, softly, brokenly. "Oh, Cal…"

He's dead. The man he loves is dead, and the world is shattered into a million pieces.

"Kevin," he hears Hartley say, voice barely more than a whisper, from close by. "Kevin, come here."

But he can't. He can't move. He feels Hartley standing over him, and after a moment the other man is pulling him to his feet, stepping in close behind and gripping his shoulders.

"There's nothing you could have done," Hartley whispers, gently. "I'm so very sorry. I know what he meant to you."

"How..?" Kevin starts out, trying to give voice to the question. " _How..?!_ "

It's the only word he can manage, and any further attempt to speak is lost in a soft, broken sob. Hartley turns him, pulling him in close, and it's several moments before Kevin can even process that the other man is nigh-on hugging him. Certainly holding him. At first he's too stunned to move, but then he just curls in tighter, desperate for any kind of comfort.

Anything that might reduce the anguish in his heart.

But nothing does. Nothing can. Maybe nothing ever will.

Except… then the rage hits, like a backdraft of flame bursting through a newly-opened door, and he pulls away from the embrace, staring at Hartley.

"Who did this?" he asks – demands – through bitter tears. "Who _murdered_ my Callum?"

Hartley keeps hold of Kevin's shoulders. "We don't know for sure," he answers. "Not yet. But we do know that it was members of the dissident movement. You know Callum worked in Logistics and, two nights ago, he came to me and said he'd uncovered something. Something big. He said he'd look into it more and report back when he had a better idea of what was going on. We were supposed to meet this morning to discuss it, but when he didn't show up…"

He trails off, looking down at the body on the ground. Kevin manages to do the same, but only for a moment, before he turns his own dark eyes in Hartley's direction again.

"Tell me everything," he pleads. "Give me a target. I need to find the ones who did this and _destroy_ them."

"I know," Hartley tells him. "And you will. _We_ will. We will not let this act of violence go unpunished, and doubly-so because it was directed at one of our own. At a son of the Management Board. We will find the people who did this and we will crush them, Kevin, I promise you."

" _I_ will crush them," Kevin declares. "I will find every last dissident involved in this and I will _end them all_."

Despite everything, Hartley smiles. "I know you will. I can always count on you."

"Yes," Kevin agrees. Promises. " _Yes_."

***

People will talk of it for years to come: the day that Logistics is purged.

It's done with textbook efficiency. There's no dramatic attack; no blazing buildings screaming grief to the merciless sky, even though – on some level – Kevin wishes there were.

But no. This is better. This is a knock on the door and a smile in the sunlight, a flash of silver followed by another, and another, and another.

He loses count of how many people he pays a visit to on that day. He loses count of how many of them feign innocence, feign ignorance. It doesn't matter. They're enemies of Strexcorp, and he is the one who deals with such enemies.

The one who fixes problems.

And when it's all over, when the haze clears, the whispered tales tell of a figure walking back to the HQ tower, blood-streaked and silent, dark eyes unblinking, and of the CEO who greets him at the door.

"Is it done?" he asks.

"It's done," his fixer replies. "It's done."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...And no, I still can't quite believe I did that to him. *curls into a tiny ball*
> 
> Also, Kevin's assertion that Svitz is 'a wonderful place' is, of course, a deliberate reference/shameless homage to _Agents of SHIELD_ 's 'it's a magical place'.
> 
> I wrote Chapters 7 and 8 very close together - and right before Episode 70A aired, I might add, which just made things even worse for my poor boy - but deliberately held off posting them until I had one more chapter that _wasn't_ soul-crushing angst to finish off this batch. So... prepare yourself for some mood-whiplash!


	9. Tereta

**Tereta**

_Master of ceremonies_

***

Three years pass. Three long, hot, productive years.

They're mostly uneventful, by previous standards. The show goes on, literally and metaphorically. The work goes on, definitely literally.

And then, one afternoon, Kevin gets another of his regular invitations to dinner with the Hartleys. He drives over to the estate on the Friday evening – he usually drives himself these days, and the Hartleys are always happy to put him up for the night if need be – and parks near the main porch, next to the somewhat oversized Bentley that he knows belongs to Lauren.

Both Hartley daughters have moved out of the parental home in the ensuing three years. Lauren now has an extremely flashy penthouse in the centre of Desert Bluffs, whereas Naomi has opted for an estate of her own: a purpose-built manor house on the north-eastern edge of the city. It had seemed the most logical option once she and Darla moved in together.

Naomi's car – a rare model of Chevrolet called an Impaler – sits opposite Lauren's. But, Kevin notices, there's another car here too: one that he doesn't recognise. It's a Dodge Challenger, with the stereotypical go-faster stripes, and Kevin can't help rolling his eyes just a little.

He's barely gotten halfway to the front door before it swings open and Naomi looks out, expression unusually bright.

"You're here!" she exclaims. "Come in, quick. You do _not_ want to miss this!"

"Miss what?" Kevin asks, equally brightly, as he jogs up the steps to join her.

"Lauren's got herself a new beau," Naomi explains, looking like she's ready to break out the popcorn and the scorecards. "That's his midlife-crisis-mobile right there. Mom's acting like she thinks he's OK, but I know she's just being polite, and I cannot _wait_ to see Dad's face when he gets here."

"Your father's not home yet?"

"Nah, he had some thing or other to deal with at the office. Said he'd take one of the choppers. So no doubt it won't be too much longer."

They head inside and through to the living room, where Darla and Susan are having pre-dinner cocktails with Lauren and the mysterious new beau in question.

Given the reference to the 'midlife-crisis-mobile', Kevin had expected the man to be somewhat older, but from the look of him he's near enough Lauren's age. And he's not too bad looking, if you like that whole _overly-obvious_ thing.

"Kevin!" Susan enthuses. "So good to see you."

"Likewise," he answers, smiling. Always smiling. And timing is everything, of course. "And good evening, Darla. Lauren."

" _Kevin_ ," Lauren says, clearly _delighted_ to see him. "I'm so glad you two can finally meet. This is my boyfriend, Adam Mallard. Adam, I'm _sure_ you know Kevin?"

"Oh, of course," Adam replies, leaning to shake Kevin's hand firmly. "I doubt there's a person in town who doesn't know who _you_ are. And Lauren's told me _all_ about you."

Kevin's smile doesn't waver. "Good things, I hope?"

" _Naturally_ ," Lauren insists.

From the energy radiating off Susan, it's clear that the formation of a ring of fire and sticks is not far off. Cheerful smiles aside, the Hartley matriarch is not impressed with her eldest's new darling.

At this point, the rumble of a helicopter cuts the air, and Naomi beams far more brightly than is at all normal for her. "Oh, that will be Dad."

"Oh, hooray!" Lauren says, tightening her hold on Adam's arm and patting him on the shoulder to boot. "I just can't _wait_ for you to meet my father again. I'm sure he's going to _love_ you."

Kevin is not so sure. Not so sure at all. And from the looks on their faces, neither are Naomi, Darla or Susan.

"Well, Adam," Kevin goes on, as if his boss arriving by helicopter is the most normal thing in the world. Which, honestly, it is. "What exactly do you do?"

Adam looks delighted by the question. " _Well_ , Kevin," he starts out, as if he was being interviewed on air and trying to come across as chirpily adorable. Which he isn't. "I work for Strex, of course –" – of _course_ – "– and I'm currently a middle-manager in Human Resources."

"That's how we met!" Lauren explains, with a look in her eyes that suggests she thinks Adam ought to get to this part faster. "I do love Human Resources. So many useful _questions_. If I wasn't based in Media, I'd definitely want HR instead."

"And I'm sure you'd just be a _delight_ ," Adam tells her.

Darla now looks like she's fighting the urge to laugh. Or possibly throw up.

Outside, the helicopter has clearly landed and the rotors have gone silent. Seconds later, the front door opens and Mr Hartley himself comes striding into the main reception hall, just out of sight.

"Hello?" he calls.

"In the living room, Derek," Susan replies, with the hawkish expression of one who knows when feeding time in the shark pit is.

Apparently Mr Hartley _does_ have one of those, somewhere in the HQ tower. Kevin wonders vaguely if he'll ever invite Adam to see it.

The living room door swings back and Hartley comes pacing in. He's covered in blood, but no one comments. It isn't exactly unusual, after all. "Ah, you're all here already? Good, good. I'm sorry to have kept you, and… oh. _Oh_. Lauren, sweetie, who's your friend?"

The way his voice shifts at this last part says it all.

" _Dad_ ," Lauren says, in her most ingratiating voice, "this is Adam Mallard. Surely you remember Adam?"

"Ah. Yes, I do," Hartley replies, his own voice now very, very level. He reaches to shake Adam's hand, and Kevin is delighted to note the little flicker of alarm in Adam's eyes at the contact.

"Oh, do you two know each other?" Kevin asks, well-aware he's joining in the whole throwing-fuel-on-the-fire thing and realising he actually rather likes it.

"I wouldn't say we _know_ each other," Hartley replies. "But Adam and I have had some dealings in the past. You remember Xanatos Tech?"

"How could I forget?"

"Well, Adam here was responsible for questioning one of their people who we took alive."

Kevin's mind flashes back to that New Year's morning, and he remembers something involving guys from HR, Lauren, and a suspect dying when they shouldn't have, and…

…OK, so that explains the hostile looks.

"I was still new to the game at that point," Adam says, with a deliberately sheepish little smile; like he's trying to be modest but not _too_ modest. "And Mr Hartley here was so generous as to set me up with some refresher training in Advanced Interview Technique afterwards."

"You did need it," Hartley points out, dryly.

Darla is now biting her lip to keep from laughing and Naomi looks like she's not far off doing the same.

"Dinner?" Susan says, brightly; her timing perfect.

"I think that would be for the best," her husband agrees.

***

Neither Lauren nor Adam seems at all fazed by any of this, though Kevin is confident that Mr and Mrs Hartley are going to get an earful from their eldest as soon as her new boyfriend is out of range. They settle down for dinner – which is excellent, as usual – and everything seems to go as smoothly as can be hoped.

It's far from actually being _smooth_ , though. Lauren and Adam spend most of their time enthusing about each other – in the way people only very newly in love can – though Kevin suspects that Lauren is dialling it up all the more just to get back at her parents. Midway through dessert – and the seventeenth story about how amazing HR is – Hartley manages to find a gap in the conversation just wide enough to get a word in edgeways. And once he gets started, he's not a man you interrupt, even if you're his firstborn.

" _Kevin_ ," he begins, "that reminds me." Precisely _what_ has reminded him, he doesn't say, and not even Adam risks asking. "There's something I've been meaning to talk to you about."

"Oh?" Kevin replies.

"You've been an invaluable member of my inner circle for a number of years now, and you remain one of Strexcorp's most important assets."

Hartley is laying it on a little thick, no doubt to wind up Adam, but Kevin is hardly going to complain about getting some enthusiastic praise from the man he admires so much now, is he?

He manages a modest smile. "I do my best," he says.

"Yes," Hartley agrees. "You do. And Strexcorp rewards those who do their best. You know how important employee recognition is to our business model, and – to that end – I think you are long overdue one of our most popular employee perks."

Kevin feels like his heart is going to stop; trying to keep his expression level whilst he hopes, hopes, _hopes_ that he's about to hear what he thinks he's about to hear.

And he is.

"I would like to set you up with your own soul-bind. Naomi speaks very highly of your summoning abilities, and I think it's time you had a demon of your own."

This gets him a smile as radiant as the sun. No sense holding it back now. "I'd be _delighted_ , sir," Kevin replies, mind already racing with the possibilities.

Hartley claps his hands together. "Wonderful. I'll provide you with a copy of the abridged Planar Lexicon, and run it all through my personal contact in Outsourcing. My only request would be that we do the binding ritual right here in the hall. It's something I wouldn't want to miss."

"Absolutely," Kevin says, still beaming from ear to ear, as Adam does an excellent job of trying not to look too much like he's hiding in his chocolate mousse. Even though he is. "How does the process work?"

"Oh, it isn't complicated," Hartley answers, easily. "You browse the Lexicon and select which demon you want to establish a soul-bind with, and then my man in Outsourcing will make the required approaches to his counterpart on the appropriate infernal plane. The demon in question will agree to put you on his, her, its or their books, and then you can perform the initial binding ritual with only very minor risk of being eaten and/or eviscerated in the process. Once the binding is complete, both of you are protected by it, and you can perform a standard summoning as and when needed. There is technically a limit on the number of summonings you can perform per week, but we'll set it pretty high for you. As I said… you're one of Strexcorp's most important assets."

He gets up from the table. "In fact," he goes on, "let's go and have a look at the Lexicon now. I just can't wait to see who you decide to go with."

And Kevin, just as excited to find out the same, is only too eager to follow. He and Hartley leave the dining room together – Hartley with his hand on Kevin's shoulder – and it's obvious Hartley is doing this just as much for Adam's benefit – or _not_ -benefit – as he is for Kevin's.

But that's OK. Sometimes it's nice to be the centre of attention.

***

The abridged Planar Lexicon – often known colloquially as Strexcorp's demonic who's-who – turns out to be quite a read. Kevin spends a good couple of hours going through it that evening, whilst Hartley tells him all about some of the demons it lists. The man knows a _lot_ about this sort of thing, although Kevin supposes he shouldn't be surprised by it, given that soul-binds are a major Strexcorp employee perk.

It isn't a quick decision, though, so Kevin takes the book home and spends all his free time over the next few days going through it. Eventually he has a shortlist worked out, and he goes through them again, wondering how he's ever going to choose just _one_.

Only… there's a particular demon he keeps coming back to. He knows the being in question isn't the most obvious choice, but at the same time… there's a reason he keeps returning to that specific page, running his fingertips over the elaborate script of the demon's name.

This is the one.

***

He goes to see Mr Hartley at HQ the very next morning, abridged Lexicon in hand.

"You've decided then?" his boss asks.

Kevin smiles, laying the book on the desk between them and opening it at that now-familiar page, turning it so Hartley can see.

"Yes," he answers. "I've decided."

Hartley looks at the page on the demon in question, raising his eyebrows. "Well. Well, well. I didn't see that coming. I suppose I thought you'd go for someone more…"

"…Subtle?" Kevin suggests, with a little smile.

"Quite," Hartley agrees, with a smile of his own. "Then again, perhaps I shouldn't be surprised at all. You're certain of your decision?"

"I am."

"Very well. I'll have Outsourcing make the approaches, and we can schedule the binding ritual for… Thursday evening?"

"Perfect," Kevin says, beaming. "I can't wait!"

"Neither can I," Hartley admits. "Neither can I."

And, before he heads out, Kevin looks back down at the page in the abridged Lexicon, eyes following the curved letters spelling out the name that he's no doubt going to become all-too-familiar with in the days, weeks, _years_ to come.

 _Azatothoth the Bloodthirsty_.

***

The grand summoning hall at the Hartley estate looks especially splendid on the Thursday evening. Much as soul-binding rituals are not – usually – formal affairs, _everything_ the Hartleys do somehow ends up feeling like one, and this is no exception.

Kevin doesn't mind. On the contrary, he enjoys it. Even if Mr and Mrs Hartley do seem to have deigned to let Adam back in the house.

"Lauren was very insistent," Hartley says to Kevin, when no one else can hear. "Just do us both a favour and blow him away with how good you are at this."

Kevin tries not to blush.

He prepares the summoning circle himself: the demon he's chosen is Fourth Infernal Plane, who are apparently sticklers for complicated summoning circles. The usual summoning ritual draws it out automatically, but for an unbound summoning he needs to do this part in advance.

It's oddly soothing, marking out the shapes and sigils in charcoal on the smooth, stone floor. He knows what most of them mean – he's been doing a _lot_ of research in the last few days – but even knowing doesn't quite take away all of the mystery, and he gets a little shiver of excitement as he completes the final sigil and steps back.

"Lovely," Hartley purrs, standing a short distance away with the others. Darla grins and gives him a thumbs-up, and Naomi smiles too. Lauren is trying to pretend she's not at all excited – but she is – and Adam is trying to pretend he knows what's going on.

Which he doesn't.

"Are you ready?" Hartley now asks.

Kevin nods. "Yes." Oh yes. He has never been more ready.

Hartley nods too. "Good. I'm going to move in closer, not because I doubt your abilities, but simply because the first time you invoke something of this power it can be quite draining. Passing out is more common than most people realise. Summoning a full-on demon is much more intense than summoning minor beings or entities, even from the higher planes. It takes its toll."

He and Susan exchange a little look and a smile at that, but Kevin isn't surprised. He knows Mrs Hartley has summoned things that most people couldn't hope to get close to.

"Of course," Kevin agrees. "I appreciate the support."

Especially from you.

Hartley moves in closer, but not so close that he'll interfere, and then Kevin faces the summoning circle, taking a deep breath. He has the summoning invocation memorised – he spent most of last night practicing – but that doesn't mean he isn't nervous.

On the contrary. He doesn't think he's been this nervous in a long time.

The invocation can be done in any language, but it's good form to use one that is suitably ancient, dead or – indeed – otherworldly. The only otherworldly language Kevin knows any of is Dzy-an-thyl, though, and that's a language of the upper three planes. Using it on a being from the Fourth might be construed as _impolite_.

Besides, he has plenty of choice from his human repertoire, and he's learnt the invocations in Linear-B. It's such a lovely language. So satisfying. Just right for summoning an otherworldly entity of extraordinary power…

Kevin smiles. This is it.

He raises his hands, holding them at head height with his palms vertical, facing forwards: the standard summoning pose for the Fourth Infernal Plane. To the uninitiated, it might well look like a gesture of surrender, but it is in fact an old pose from the Fourth that, broadly-speaking, means: I am large and terrifying and coming to devour you.

Amazing what you can learn on Wikipedia.

And he starts to speak. The Linear-B comes easily – it gets him a little smile from Susan, and he wonders if she understands it – and the well-memorised words flow like blood; beautiful and intricate.

A drumbeat sounds: a drumbeat that seems to come from the deepest depths of some unfathomable place, and Kevin feels his heart start to thrum in his chest, the excitement building. Light glows along the lines of the summoning circle, the sigils starting to flicker as though with some inner fire, and he's confident the same light is glowing from his palms, too.

He feels it again: the same power, the same certainty, that he's felt in combat; that he's felt when he's acting in Strexcorp's name. It blazes through him, like he's walking on the surface of the sun, unharmed. _Unstoppable_.

Kevin calls out the final line of the invocation, and a burst of otherworldly light shines through the air as a being blazes into existence in the centre of the circle. And now, Kevin tries not to stare… though it isn't easy, because the demon he's just summoned is even more impressive than he was expecting.

The demon in question is shaped like a very well-muscled humanoid man, albeit one who is eight feet tall. He has broad, sweeping horns on his head, and huge, bat-like wings currently curled behind him. He's wearing a heavy black loincloth and thick, spiked metal boots, and all of his exposed skin is drenched in blood. And at his side hangs a huge sword, with a red-eyed skull set into its pommel.

He's perfect. Kevin beams, and then realises he needs to concentrate on not falling over backwards, because _wow_ , he feels weird right now. And _great_. But he isn't done yet.

The demon folds his arms – which must be tricky with all the extra spikes he has – and regards his summoner carefully. "…Linear-B?" he says, after a moment, in a deep voice resonant with the collective agonies of a thousand tortured souls. And more than a little cynicism. "Who uses Linear-B anymore?"

Kevin meets the demon's vivid red eyes. "I do!" he says, brightly, and holds out his hand. "Shall we?"

They have to complete the binding first, after all. Otherwise one or more of them is liable to get eaten. The demon gives him something of a look – perhaps disappointed that he's not going to get a chance for any devouring – and then grunts, taking a step forward and grasping Kevin's hand.

Unsurprisingly, he has a very firm grip. Kevin tries not to let the reaction show in his eyes.

The binding ritual itself takes only a moment. Hand in hand, they recite the incantation in unison – and though the demon doesn't look at all impressed by having to do it in Linear-B, he doesn't falter once – before converting the hand-grip into a handshake, then letting go and stepping back.

There's some applause from the small audience. Kevin beams more, giving them a little nod before turning his attention to the demon once again.

"I can't wait to work with you," he enthuses. "I'm Kevin, by the way, but I'm sure your contact told you that."

The demon nods. "He did. And I am Azatothoth the Bloodthirsty, Five Hundred and Twenty-Second Acolyte to the Fourth Infernal Plane."

"It's a pleasure!"

" _Oh_ , another chirpy one," Azatothoth rumbles. "You Strex people are all alike."

"We're just a joy, aren't we?!"

Azatothoth gives him a look that suggests this is not what he meant.

"So what do you do?" the demon asks.

Off to the side, Darla giggles, then tries to pretend she did no such thing.

"I work in radio," Kevin replies. "I'm the voice of Desert Bluffs!"

Azatothoth the Bloodthirsty looks thoroughly unimpressed. Kevin headtilts back in Hartley's direction.

"I also fix problems for Mr Hartley. Sometimes the old-fashioned way." And he idly pats the hilt of his sheathed knife.

This gets a more favourable reaction from the demon, along with a suddenly guarded expression. "Ah. Yes, of course." He looks over at Hartley, giving him a very careful nod. "Sir."

"Acolyte," Hartley acknowledges in reply.

The odd moment passes, and Azatothoth returns his attention to Kevin. "So you do get to kill people sometimes?"

"As and when necessary."

"I suppose that sounds more promising. Well, then, _tereta_ , I look forward to working with you."

Kevin claps his hands together, with a little laugh. "Oh, you already have a nickname for me!" he exclaims.

"He does?" Darla interjects.

"Yes! _'Tereta'_. It means 'master of ceremonies' in Linear-B. I knew you'd enjoy my choice of language really!" he adds, turning back to the demon.

Azatothoth continues to look unimpressed, giving a shrug that is all spikes.

"Well, then, _Azzie_ , I'm excited to be working with you!"

"…What did you just call me?"

"'Azzie'! Don't you think it's adorable?"

"…Would it help if I said no?"

"Not in the slightest! You can do that whole disappearing thing now, but I'm sure we'll talk soon."

"…Kevin, I can't wait," the demon manages.

And – perhaps before things can get any worse – he gives Hartley one last careful nod and then vanishes in another burst of infernal light. It makes Kevin feel strange for a second, which he guesses must be the new soul-bind reacting to being stretched across the planes.

Very strange. And sort of tickly.

Kevin breathes out, possibly for the first time in several minutes. "That was amazing!" he exclaims, and very nearly falls over backwards. Hartley is ready for it, though, and has both hands on his shoulders before he can get very far.

"Easy there, you," Hartley says, keeping careful hold of him. "Give yourself a moment. I told you the first time would be pretty intense."

"And amazing!" Kevin enthuses some more, very glad to have those hands on his shoulders. "Seriously, I cannot thank you enough."

"I told you, you earned it," Hartley reminds him. "And I have no doubt you'll do me proud. I get the sense the two of you will make an excellent team."

"I hope so. I can't wait to find out!"

When he's steadier on his feet, he bounds over to the others. "Nice one," Darla tells him, with a grin.

"Seconded," Naomi agrees. "I'd say I was surprised by who you chose… but I'm also kind of not." She grins too.

"Spikes and bat-wings?" Lauren remarks, head on one side. "Isn't that a little bit overkill?"

"Nope," Kevin replies, calmly. "You just wait. Next hostile takeover, me and that guy strolling through the streets… mmmm. Hold that thought!"

It's a nice one.

Hartley, having moved closer again, pats him on the shoulder. The man is very hands-on today. "Strexcorp's enemies won't know what hit them," he says.

Kevin beams some more. It really is lovely to be appreciated.

***

It's the following evening. Kevin has spent the day still thrilled by his new soul-bind, and enthusiastically telling everyone at work all about it. Most people are, of course, suitably impressed; indeed, it's only Daniel who rolls his eyes and looks disparaging, but that isn't really a surprise.

The odd thing is, alongside all his excited thoughts about where this new soul-bind might take him, Kevin is also mulling over something else; something he can't act on until he gets home.

Until he's alone.

Which is why, that evening, shortly after the sun has set, he steps out into his back garden. It's a lovely space, consisting of a wide, flat lawn with high hedges on both sides, offering plenty of privacy. He's going to have to make himself a proper summoning circle out here, now that he has reason to get plenty of use out of it. It isn't strictly _necessary_ , of course, given that his new demon's standard summoning ritual creates the circle for him, but they just look so _cool_.

Yes. A nice circle. Maybe made of sandstone. Something suitably golden and sun-like.

Definitely. Soon.

For now, the open space alone is enough. Kevin takes a deep breath, raises his hands, and starts to chant. And… wow, but it really feels amazing. The incantation rolls easily off his tongue, and as the words build so does the sense of power. Of _possibility_. The summoning circle blazes into life on the grass – aflame and yet doing no damage – and those increasingly familiar sigils glitter back at him as the chant progresses. Finally, he calls out the last three words, and – in a burst of infernal light – Azatothoth the Bloodthirsty appears in the centre of the circle.

Kevin drops his hands and breathes out, concentrating on not falling over this time. He can feel that it's already easier, but he knows he's going to need more practice all the same.

The demon, meanwhile, looks down at him, head tilted to one side. "You rang, _tereta?_ " he rumbles, before glancing around. "I see no enemies."

"Oh, there aren't any right now," Kevin says, easily. "I thought maybe we could talk."

Azatothoth narrows his deep-red eyes. "Talk?"

"Yes! I like talking. I do it a lot. And seeing as you and I are going to be working together, I thought it might help. And also…"

He trails off. It happens spontaneously, so he just has to go with it, but he knows it's a little telling.

The demon gives him an odd look. "Also _what?_ " he pushes and, though he's trying to sound irritated, it's clear he's somewhat intrigued as well.

Kevin glances around, reassuring himself that they're alone. Because, these _other_ thoughts he's been having… well, they're not exactly something you broadcast, literally or figuratively.

"…You're a demon, so you must know about all kinds of… unusual things…"

"Like what?"

Another glance around. "How well do you know Desert Bluffs?"

Azatothoth shrugs. "Well enough, though you're the only one here I'm soul-bound to at the moment. There was someone a couple of years back, but things came to an abrupt end."

"Oh?"

"She was a very talented summoner. Good at corporate marketing, too, apparently. Unfortunately, she took it upon herself to rebel against Strexcorp. As if _anyone_ would ever be so stupid as to do something like that, given how powerful they are. Got herself killed in the process. For whatever reason, she wasn't able to summon me in time, and one of Mr Hartley's people caught up with her and her friends. Killed them all. Never found out who it was, but the reports said…"

The demon trails off, suddenly staring at Kevin as if in a new light, eyes flicking to the knife sheathed at his back.

"…A lone man, with a blade and a smile."

"Well, that could be any one of _hundreds_ of people in Desert Bluffs," Kevin says, aware the barest flicker of concern has just slipped into his tone.

Azatothoth folds his arms. "It wasn't, though, was it? It was you."

It was. Kevin is sure of it. "…Wow, this is awkward…"

"Nah. It's just work. I know how things are with you Strex people. It did make me swear off going back on your books for a while, but when my guy told me about you, I figured, what the Hells? Besides, if you're in Mr Hartley's inner circle, you're hardly going to try to drag me into a rebellion against them, now, are you?"

Smiling God, but this conversation is just getting more and more awkward. "…Funny you should mention that," Kevin says, carefully.

This gets him another narrowed – and, indeed, suspicious – look from his new demon. " _Why?_ " Azatothoth demands.

"Well… the truth is, I've been having some _very_ strange dreams, and – like I said – you're a demon, so you must know about all kinds of unusual things…"

" _Like what?_ "

"Oh, I don't know… huge, mystical rocks of barely-imaginable power..?"

"Kevin," says Azatothoth the Bloodthirsty, "this is not going to end well."

It doesn't.

***

It's two weeks since Kevin got his soul-bind – and a lovely, impromptu vacation to go with it – and he feels just _great_ as he strolls in through the doors of the radio station on his first morning back.

"Oh, look who it is," comes Daniel's ever-cheerless drawl. "I thought we said you'd run your vacation requests through me?"

"We did!" Kevin replies. "But this was a special case. There's nothing wrong with a little spontaneity, after all!"

Daniel rubs a hand over his eyes. "Where did you go this time?"

"Luftnarp."

"Was it nice?"

"Oh yes. It's a wonderful place."

Why Daniel can't just be happy for him, Kevin does not know.

"Well, good," Daniel replies, shortly. "Maybe now you can get back to work?"

"Of course! You know how I love my job."

Daniel sighs. "And no summoning that new demon of yours inside. I don't want scorch-marks on the ceiling."

"Yes, Daniel."

Some people have no sense of fun.

Kevin heads along to his office, to go through the morning communications from the Strex Public Relations team. Just as he's settling at his desk, fresh cup of coffee in hand, his cellphone rings.

It's Naomi.

"Hello, you," he greets her, brightly.

"Hey," she says. There's an odd hint of caution in her tone, and Kevin wonders why. "How are you?"

"Just great!" Kevin enthuses. "First day back after my vacation."

"…Ah, yes, right. Your vacation. How was it?"

"Wonderful!"

"…I'm glad. Well, I won't keep you. I just… I just wanted to check in. See that you're OK."

"Of course I'm OK!"

"Because… because I care about you. You know that, right?"

"Sure I do! Naomi… are _you_ all right?"

Kevin finds himself wishing he could see Naomi's face. See her eyes. It would be so much easier to read her if he could.

"Yeah," Naomi insists, in a voice hinted with a strange kind of weight. "Yeah. I'm fine. Listen, since… you know, since you're back, we should meet up sometime."

"We really should!" Kevin agrees. "In fact, I might throw a dinner party. Just something small, of course: you, Darla, my sister… maybe she'll even bring my niece along. You realise she's two and a half, now? They grow up so fast, don't they?"

"They do," Naomi says. "It still feels like only yesterday that little Gillian was born. How's her mom doing?"

"Kirsten? Oh, she's doing great. I worried she might not react well to being single again, but I don't think she's been so happy in months."

"Good. I'm glad to hear it. And yes, I really would like to see them both again."

"Then it's settled!"

"I look forward to it. Although… I'd love to meet up with you sooner. How are you fixed this afternoon? Even just for coffee."

Kevin beams. "Naomi, I _always_ have time for you. But I can't help feeling you're checking up on me…"

"…Just looking out for a friend. That's all."

"Well, I'm touched. But you don't need to worry. I'm fine. I'm just _fine_."

After all, he lives in the greatest city in America, working for the greatest company in America. How could he ever be anything _but_ fine?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And... cliffhanger again! I was delighted to get Azzie in at last, as I've been waiting ages to introduce him, and there is very little in life that _isn't_ improved by the addition of an eight-foot demon with serious snark issues... ;-)
> 
> Coming Up: ...sooooo, remember that whole thing about the 'super screwed-up relationship that I wonder how many of you saw coming'? Time to see it coming...


	10. Euketo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo... I'm back. I just have one chapter of this insane thing for you today, which I am posting before the muse comes up with a way to stop me! This chapter is the primary reason this whole fic exists and... well. I'll ramble more at the end! You should probably read it first...

**Euketo**

_Wishes_

***

Autumn rolls around, still clinging to the late radiance of summer.

Kevin arrives at the radio station one morning, stepping into the entrance lobby to find himself faced with a man he doesn't recognise. The man in question is about his own age, and dressed in clothes so bright that even Kevin is a little taken aback, especially given that his colour-coordination seems to need some work.

The man beams. He looks a lot like a used-car salesman, only the sort who is far too nice and would give you too much of a discount.

"Well, hi there," Kevin says. "I'm Kevin. Can I help you?"

"Uh… maybe! I hope so. I'm new. It's my first day." The man says all of this very quickly and enthusiastically, before offering Kevin his hand. "I'm Ted. I'm the radio station's new weatherman!"

Kevin shakes Ted's hand, returning his smile. "Ah, of course! Because of that whole thing with… yes! Well. It's good to meet you. Welcome to Radio Desert Bluffs!"

"I'm delighted to be here," Ted replies. "I was told to ask for someone called… uh… Daniel?"

"That sounds right to me. Daniel is our producer. I'm sure he'll be around somewhere."

"Jolly good, jolly good. Though, I must say, I'm pleased to have run into you first. I know who you are, after all. Everyone knows who you are!"

Kevin gives a modest smile. "It's a privilege to be the voice of my community."

"I can imagine. I love your show. I listen to you all the time,"

"Well, thank you! I've been doing it for years now, but it never gets old. And you're a weatherman? That must be interesting! Filling your days with so much music."

Ted stares at him in bemusement. "…Music?"

"But of course! Isn't that what weather usually entails?"

Now Ted looks even more bemused. "Uhm… no, no, in my case, it involves… weather. You know. Meteorology?"

"Oh!" Kevin exclaims. "How fascinating!"

"It is," Ted agrees, still smiling. "It's something of a niche discipline, but I do like to stand out."

"I can understand that," Kevin says. "Now, let's see if we can find… oh! There he is now. Daniel? Daniel! Our new weatherman is here!"

Daniel – at the far end of the central corridor – pauses a second before pacing down to them. He looks even less amused than usual, and is carrying a big, leather-bound folder with the Strexcorp emblem stamped in gold on the front.

The book of contingency plans. Kevin's attention sharpens immediately. "What's happened?" he asks.

The seriousness seems to catch Daniel off-guard, and his tone is unusually low on snark as he answers. "Hostile takeover attempt," he replies. "Word just came in. Company called Crimson Holdings – we think they might be from Red Mesa. Groups of their people have been spotted all across town, and they have helicopters over the city core."

Kevin is not entirely sure whether to be affronted by the invasion of _his_ town and the assault on _his_ employers, or delighted by the prospect of repelling such an attack, given how incredibly well it went the last time around. Either way, one thing he _is_ sure of.

"I need to call in," he says at once, pulling his cellphone from his pocket. "No doubt Mr Hartley will–"

He's cut off in mid-sentence – and before he can hit the speed dial – as his phone starts to ring. Daniel resumes looking thoroughly unimpressed, whilst Ted seems moments away from going into full fanboy-mode.

"One second," Kevin says to them both, before he takes the call. "I'm here, sir."

"Kevin, I need you at the HQ tower," Hartley tells him, on the other end of the line. "But first, I want you to go on-air. Desert Bluffs needs to know what's happening, so the people can mobilise accordingly. Once you've done that, get here as fast as possible."

"Understood," Kevin replies. "I won't keep you waiting."

"I knew I could rely on you. Get moving. I need you here soon."

And the other man hangs up.

"Mr Hartley wants a broadcast," Kevin tells Daniel, completely no-nonsense. "I need to announce what's going on, and then I need to report in."

Daniel sighs, but he's smart enough not to argue on a day like this. "All right. Come on. I'll help you get set up in the studio."

They're just about to hurry off together when Kevin turns to Ted. "You want to come watch?"

Despite everything, Ted beams. "Do I ever?!" he exclaims.

So Kevin headtilts down the corridor. "Come along, then."

Looks like it's going to be an interesting day for them all.

***

Once the emergency broadcast is done, relating what information Strexcorp currently has on their unexpected invaders, Kevin leaves Ted in Daniel's supposedly-capable hands and hurries off at once. When he gets to his car, he pulls out his phone again and calls his sister, needing to know for sure that Kirsten and little Gillian are both OK.

"Hey, you," comes the voice of his sister, as she answers the phone. "Just heard the broadcast."

"I'm glad," Kevin replies. "I wanted to call and make sure you're all right. Gillian too. Are you both at home?"

"We are," Kirsten tells him. "I just caught this little menace trying to log on to my computer."

"Awwww, she's so bright for her age!"

"Tell me about it. You good?"

"Oh yes," Kevin answers. "I'm about to head off to the HQ tower. You two make sure you stay inside, OK? You'll be safe so long as you keep off the streets."

"I know the drill, Kevin," Kirsten reminds him, gently. "We'll be fine. Call me tonight? Just so I don't worry?"

"Absolutely," Kevin promises. "I should get going. Give that darling girl of yours a kiss from me."

"I will. Love you."

"Love you too."

And they hang up.

Kevin takes a deep breath. He knew Kirsten would be OK. Of course he did. But the reassurance helps.

Now that he's confident his family is safe, Kevin starts driving towards the centre of town, and Strexcorp HQ. He passes several pockets of fighting – these Crimson Holdings people apparently move fast – but resists the urge to stop and help out, remembering what Hartley said to him.

 _I need you here soon_.

As he reaches the HQ tower, he pulls into the underground parking lot, then hurries up the rampway and back into the sunlight, towards the obvious flurry of activity happening close to the main entrance. A number of people are engaged in an involved hand-to-hand fight: several Strexcorp enforcers, and what seem to be their Crimson Holdings counterparts, all of whom are wearing rather alarming red suits, with darker red ties.

If truth be told, they look like a cabaret act. There's simply no accounting for taste.

It isn't just an enforcer-battle, though. Derek Hartley is here too, along with Nina Belmonte and Lilith Wallace. Kevin can't see Hikaru or Aidan, however, and he just has to hope this isn't a bad sign.

Well. He had to stay out of the fighting on his way over here, but he certainly doesn't have to resist any longer. Kevin grins, holding up his hands and starting to summon Azatothoth the Bloodthirsty… and oh, but he never gets tired of how _cool_ this is. Within a couple of moments, the demon has blazed into existence in the centre of his summoning circle, looking first at Kevin and then turning to consider the fighting going on close by.

"Is this a _hostile takeover attempt?_ " the demon rumbles, in what can only be described as barely-repressed delight.

"Yep," Kevin tells him, happily. "And all those guys in red? Crimson Holdings. Rival company. We don't like them. So… go wild, Azzie."

Azatothoth does not need telling twice. He gives a low, terrifying cry of approval, and charges into the fray, drawing his sword in the process and sending his first target flying a good twenty feet. In multiple directions.

The commotion – and the howling eight-foot demon – clearly gets Hartley's attention, because he turns, knife in hand, and gestures Kevin over. " _There_ you are."

There is still a fight going on, of course, but Kevin can do two things at once. He draws his own knife and launches himself at the attacker closest to Hartley, barrelling the interloper to the ground with a rough twist before driving his blade into the man.

He is not showing off. He is not.

…He is maybe a little.

"Here I am, sir," he says, rising to his feet with a smile.

It's an expression Hartley returns. "We seem to have something of a situation on our hands. Though I'm sure it's nothing we can't deal with."

One of the attackers in red runs at them, and both men turn, stabbing their opponent in unison.

 _Darn_ , that feels _good_.

"Quite," Kevin concurs, as the body drops. "Have you heard from any of the others?"

He needs to know. He doesn't want to risk fully enjoying himself until he knows _all_ the people he cares about are safe. And, truth be told, he'd expected – and hoped – to find more of them here.

"Most, yes," Hartley answers. "Susan and the Coven of the Sun are leading the fight at the Bloodstone Plaza, and Naomi and Darla are with them. Lauren and that _ridiculous_ boyfriend of hers are somewhere in the north of the city, with a contingent from HR. No doubt Adam is just _desperate_ to get his hands on more suspects to _accidentally_ kill."

There's a heavy – and unusual – dose of snark in the other man's voice, and it makes Kevin smile. "No doubt," he agrees. "What about Mr Tachibana and Mr Outteridge?"

"We haven't heard from them yet," Hartley says, just a flicker of concern in his eyes. "But I'm confident they're all right."

"They'd better be," Nina Belmonte chips in, as she fells a target of her own and steps closer. "My girls went looking for them."

At this point, they all have to concentrate on the battle, swinging back into the fray as several of the Crimson Holdings people come at them at once. But that's OK… in fact, Kevin is glad of it. He _needs_ to be fighting right now. Needs to help repel these interlopers who have _dared_ to make a move on Strexcorp's territory.

And though he may have been showing off a little before, right now he's not even thinking about it. He merely acts. Reacts. Swings. Stabs. Ducks. Picks up a fallen blade belonging to the man he's just killed and throws it squarely through the air, watching as it thunks into another of their opponents.

The moment over, Kevin relaxes, turning with his own blade still in hand, and realising as he does that Hartley is staring at him; _really_ staring at him.

" _That_ was quite something," Hartley remarks.

Kevin gives an easy shrug. "All for you," he says, without even thinking about it, and promptly launches into the remnants of the battle. Azatothoth knocks one of the remaining attackers his way, and Kevin is only too happy to complete the double-act, driving his blade into the man's back and then giving his demon a little wave as the body drops. And Azatothoth – for his part – actually grins, before turning and demonstrating the error of trying to creep up on an eight-foot extra-planar with a fondness for cleaving people in half.

"Oh, you did pick well, didn't you?" Hartley remarks, when Kevin turns to him again.

"I did!" Kevin agrees, happily, watching as Azatothoth finishes off the last of the attackers and then sheathes his enormous sword with a snap, looking pleased with himself.

Before anyone else can say anything, there's the sound of a ringing cellphone. It's Nina's, and she pulls it out at once, taking the call.

"Tamsen? Tamsen, where are you? I… oh, thank the Smiling God, good. And Zara? Very good. You've got enforcers with you? Yes, you do need them, young lady! You stay put there, I'm coming to find you. No. Tamsen, do as you're told!"

She hangs up, flipping the phone shut with a snap, and scowls. "Those girls take after their father. Derek, I need to go meet up with them. They're over by the central enforcer station."

Hartley nods. "Of course. Go make sure they're OK. Lilith, you go too. Not that the irate Mother of Twins ever needs backup…"

He grins. Nina smirks back at him. "We'll be in touch."

"Try not to have too much fun," Lilith adds, with a knowing glance at Kevin, and then the two women turn, hurrying off down the block.

"Go with them," Hartley tells the remaining enforcers. "But don't get in the way."

"…What about you, sir?" one enforcer dares to ask.

Hartley merely smiles. "I'll be fine. I have Kevin. Now get moving."

They don't need to be told twice, and off the remaining enforcers go, in the same direction as Nina and Lilith.

Which leaves Kevin – and Azatothoth – alone with Derek Hartley. The man himself looks like he's having far more fun than befits a person whose company is under attack, but Strexcorp does have a perfect track record in dealing with these things, and today looks to be no exception.

"Well, Kevin," he says. "I think it's time you and I dealt with some more of these interlopers. _Together_."

"I'd be _delighted_ ," Kevin agrees, and then looks back at his demon. "Come along, Azzie. Let's go show Crimson Holdings what we're made of!"

***

In the end, it turns out that Crimson Holdings are even less prepared for this than Xanatos Tech were. At least Xanatos Tech managed to invoke an extra-planar being of extraordinary power in the middle of a crowded public event, seconds before launching their attack. Crimson Holdings, on the other hand, seem to be under the impression they can win this just by fighting a lot.

They can't. And when they try to retreat, the largest enforcer battalion cuts them off.

It's going to be over by sunset. And that's only because the enforcers decide to start dragging it out.

As the bulk of the fighting winds down, Hartley and Kevin return to the HQ tower. It's under guard by more of the enforcers, but most of the staff aren't here – given that they are, instead, still out in the remnants of the battle.

But Hartley doesn't seem to mind. He leads the way back up to his office – there's no sign of Andrew, and Kevin can't help wondering where the PA has gotten to – and says he needs to make a call.

"I can step out," Kevin offers, but Hartley just gives an idle wave.

"No need," he says. "Take a moment. You earned it."

And he dials, putting his phone on speaker so Kevin can listen in. It's Naomi who answers, and Kevin is relieved to hear her voice, even though he knows Naomi is far too capable to let a little thing like a hostile takeover attempt spoil her day.

"Hey, Dad," she says. "Where are you?"

"I'm back at HQ," he answers. "Kevin's here with me. Where are you?"

"Just got back to the estate with Mom and the coven."

"Good, good. Is everyone all right?"

"I think so," Naomi tells him. "Couple of minor injuries but nothing serious. Although, I should warn you… you might get some reports about _necromantic_ activities during the fighting…"

She sounds almost sheepish. Hartley, for his part, grins as he replies. "I take it Darla was enjoying herself?"

"…That would be an understatement," Naomi answers. "But… it got the job done."

"And that's what Strexcorp cares about most, after all," her father reminds her.

"Quite," Naomi agrees, a little dryly. "Lauren and Adam aren't back yet, though they called in about fifteen minutes ago. I don't want to worry you, but I think they may have taken some of the Crimson Holdings guys up to Vista Ridge, and–"

"Oh, let them have their fun," says Hartley, easily. "It's been a long afternoon. Have Hikaru and Aidan reported in?"

"Yeah, they got back here just after we did. They're fine."

"Excellent. Lilith, Nina and the twins were – last I heard – near the central enforcer station. Could you be a darling and check for me, and send them a chopper if they need it?"

"Sure thing, Dad," Naomi promises. "And… you said Kevin's with you?"

"I'm right here!" he chips in, moving a little closer to the phone.

"I'm glad to hear it," she replies, and there's more relief in her voice now than at any point in the preceding conversation. "You doing good?"

"I'm doing great! Azzie and I had a _very_ productive afternoon. He had to disappear back off to the Fourth in the end, but I don't think I've ever seen him look happier."

"So long as you're OK," Naomi says. "We'll catch up with you both soon, yes?"

"I have a few things to take care of," Hartley replies. "But we'll be back after that."

"OK. Good. I'll let Mom know."

And they hang up.

A strange little silence descends.

"You did well today," Hartley tells Kevin, and then smiles. "Though, what am I saying, you _always_ do well. You were magnificent."

Kevin tries very, very hard not to blush. "Just doing my job," he says.

"That was more than your job. You're hypnotic when you fight. You've surpassed Terry Carver in every way, and we both know that is really saying something."

"He was an excellent teacher."

Hartley smiles. "He was. I'm hard-pressed to decide which part was the most impressive, though taking one target down with your knife whilst throwing a second blade with your off-hand would have to be up there. Simply _wonderful_."

Now Kevin does blush. "I'm glad you approve, sir."

"I do, Kevin. Oh, I do…"

Something is happening, although Kevin can't process what it is. All he knows is that this man who he hero-worships is telling him how amazing he is, and there is no one in the world he'd rather hear that from. By this point, Hartley has moved back around the desk, closer to him, watching him with those intense blue eyes.

"You know," the other man remarks, "I should feel affronted by these attacks on my company. I really should. It's a sleight against Strexcorp that _anyone_ should think they have the right to take us on. But truthfully, Kevin? I enjoy it. The fighting, the fury, the _victory?_ What could be better than that?"

"I know what you mean," Kevin agrees. He can't quite think straight, and he's sure the other man's proximity has something to do with it. They're so close now. "I love defending my home, my employers. It's an honour."

Hartley smiles more, and there's really something about him now… like he's coiled, and ready to pounce, and the awareness alone makes Kevin's breath catch. "It's an honour to have you fight for us," Hartley replies. "For the company." A pause. He really is too good at this. "For _me_."

And that's when it happens. From out of nowhere – except, of course, _not_ – Hartley grabs hold of Kevin, pushes him into the nearest wall, and kisses him. Kisses him _hard_. It's such a shock that Kevin's mind can't process it; can't process that this man he's adored for as long as he can remember is _kissing him_ , and it's a good few seconds before he even manages a whimper of surprise, much less anything more complex.

When the kiss breaks, Hartley does not back off; keeping Kevin against the wall and watching him with hawkish intent.

"…What's happening right now?" Kevin manages, tone about an octave higher than usual.

The other man smiles again. "I would have thought that was obvious."

"Well… yes… but…"

Hartley kisses him a second time. It's so incredible, Kevin feels like the whole world is tipping over backwards, and he's simultaneously terrified and euphoric. And he'd be lying if he said he'd never considered what this might be like – of course he would – but there's a very big difference between idle fantasy and suddenly being jammed into a wall by the focus of said fantasy.

…The focus of said fantasy who is _married_.

Kevin puts his hands on Hartley's arms, pushing back just slightly, and after a moment the other man takes the hint, letting the kiss break and staring at him once more.

"…You're married!" Kevin insists, with what little voice he has left. "You can't… can't do this to Susan, she'd be…"

Hartley laughs softly, warmly, raising a hand to trace along the line of Kevin's jaw. "Oh, Kevin, Kevin, you really don't know? Susan and I have had an open relationship since the very beginning. She _is_ the leader of a coven, after all. What do you think their rituals involve, tea and biscuits? I've joined in on a number of occasions, but often I just leave them to it."

Kevin stares some more, trying to process this when his brain is steadfastly refusing to work. "…She won't mind?"

"Kevin, my darling Susan will be delighted. She's been telling me to make a move on you for _months_."

"You _both_ take lovers?"

"Oh, Smiling God, yes. Of either gender. Although Susan and I seem to prefer the company of our own genders when we're not with each other."

"So… this… we can..?"

"We can," Hartley replies. "Susan won't mind, and no one else has to know unless you want to tell them. I rarely do… though I think some people guess. And, Kevin… surely you've imagined what this might be like?"

All Kevin can do is nod, and try not to blush too much, because he certainly _has_ imagined it. Sometimes in graphic detail.

And Hartley can obviously read the truth in his eyes, because he leans in, kissing Kevin once more. He starts out slower this time: teasing, almost; letting the intensity build and build until Kevin is completely out of his mind, and then moves all of a sudden, seizing Kevin's wrists and pinning them to the wall, either side of his head.

The world goes hazy. Still holding him, Hartley leans in, speaking right into his ear.

"You know you're mine, don't you?"

Were it not for the hands on him, Kevin is confident he would have fallen straight to his knees at that; the other man's tone and his _words_ too wonderful to bear.

" _Yes, sir_ ," he gasps.

"Good, good," Hartley purrs. "You have been, since the day we met. And you will be, until the very end. You know that too, yes?"

"Yes. _Yes_."

" _Good_."

And this gets him kissed again, kissed and kissed whilst he's pinned to the wall, and _Smiling God_ , this is even better than Kevin imagined it would be. The whole world is sunlight; blood and sunlight, the thrill of triumph and the radiant glow of efficiency, and it's more wonderful than Kevin can put into words. And he speaks _several_ languages.

As the kiss breaks, Hartley pulls Kevin's hands up above his head, now pinning them together with just one of his own. The movement – firm and decisive – knocks all the air from Kevin's lungs again, made even more intense when Hartley slips his now-free other hand under Kevin's jaw, keeping his head up, enforcing eye-contact.

And this… all of this… _oh_ , it feels so strange. Kevin knows full-well what it's like to be the one on top in such an encounter, but he has no experience of being the one underneath. None whatsoever. Although… perhaps it's fair to say that _anyone_ who is around Derek Hartley for long enough knows what it's like to be the one underneath.

Because _he_ could never be anything except the one on top.

"I really did wait too long to try this," Hartley remarks, softly, hand still under Kevin's jaw. "But don't worry. I'm going to take my time with you. Make every second of that waiting worthwhile…"

" _Please_ ," Kevin whispers. Begs. Amazing how easily it comes, when your blood seems to be on fire with need. "Anything, sir. Anything for you. Even though I already feel like you've broken me in half…"

He wonders – as he speaks – if he should admit this, but it only makes Hartley smile all the more. "Oh, Kevin," the other man purrs, leaning in again, "I'm just getting started. Now is when things become interesting…"

This, it turns out, is quite an understatement.

***

Hartley is indeed true to his promise to take his time. Kevin isn't quite sure how long it's been; only that, beyond the glass, the radiant glow of afternoon has blended to the softer glow of evening

Right now he's lying on his back, on the broad couch at the far end of Hartley's office, with the other man lying half beside him, and half on top. They've ended up here, but in the preceding howeverlong they've been pretty much everywhere else in the room, at some point or another.

The wall. The desk. The giant Strexcorp emblem in the middle of the floor.

Kevin still feels like his blood is on fire, though it's no longer the blazing inferno of need, but rather the slow burn of release.

Of having gotten what he never quite realised he wanted so badly.

So here he is, on his back, without a single item of clothing left. These – like the ones belonging to Hartley – are scattered around the room, giving some indication of the path they took to get to this point. Kevin's hands are up above his head, bound with the other man's belt; leather pressed tight against his skin.

He wonders if it will leave marks. He feels like he should be covered in them.

And Hartley is watching him, bright blue eyes unblinking as he stares down at the man beneath him.

"That was good," Hartley breathes, finally. "That was _very_ good. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. You excel at everything you do."

Kevin is not quite sure how to reply to this. Compliments about his broadcasting, or his combat ability, he can handle. But compliments about the very involved sex he's just had all over his boss' office?

He settles on a hazy smile. "I'm glad you approve, sir."

Hartley smiles as well, but – instead of speaking again straight away – he starts to trace a gentle fingertip over the centre of Kevin's throat, across his chest, and slowly down to his side. His left side. He traces along the line of the scar that's there: the scar from where Kevin was injured, during the battle against Xanatos Tech at the turn of the millennium. All that remains now is a long, thin white line where the enemy blade raked across his hip; not nearly enough to stop him.

The touch is laden with such meaning, though, and Kevin knows it before the other man even says a word.

"You took this mark for the company, didn't you?"

"Yes," Kevin answers, softly. "Yes. For the company." A beat. "For you."

This makes Hartley smile all the more, tracing along the line of the scar again, but firmer this time. And, as he does, it's as though he's stroking electricity across Kevin's skin, the sensation so strangely intense that Kevin closes his eyes for a moment, trying very hard not to make a sound.

"For me," Hartley echoes, finally. "Yes."

He presses in closer, kissing Kevin again; hand still on his side, as if searing that mark of ownership onto him forever.

As the kiss breaks, they're both silent for a moment, until Hartley speaks once more. "Well. Much as I would like to lie here with you until I feel like showing you my Room of Questions, I should probably deal with the fact that my company was _attacked_ earlier today. No doubt people will be wondering where I am."

"No doubt," Kevin agrees. But _he's_ the only one who knows, and that's oddly gratifying.

Hartley smirks. "I should probably untie you."

"Probably, yes."

It feels strange when he does, though. As it feels strange when they both have to get up and retrieve their clothes from all over the room. Or, it does to Kevin, at least.

Once they're presentable again, they head out, and Kevin is a little surprised to see that Andrew is back at his desk in the room beyond. The PA gives them both a very weird look, though keeps his expression too level to read.

"Ah, Andrew, good, there you are," Hartley says. "Kevin and I are going up to the house. Please call ahead and let them know. Is my chopper on the roof?"

Andrew nods. "Yes, sir."

"Good. Come along, Kevin."

And the way Kevin follows surely speaks volumes.

***

They take the helicopter out to the Hartley estate, soaring over the city below. It's obvious, even from up here, that things are quietening down now. In the grand scheme of things, this wasn't a particularly serious takeover attempt. Not like the incident with Xanatos Tech. But Kevin knows he'll never forget it, albeit for… different reasons.

What is it about hostile takeovers that causes crucial events in his life to happen alongside them? And, if there _is_ a connection, what will happen the _next_ time someone tries something like this?

Kevin and Hartley sit a little apart in the back of the chopper – their enforcer-pilots up front – and the separation is both strange and helpful. Strange in that they've been _very_ close, physically-speaking, not so long ago, and helpful in that it reminds Kevin what this is. Or, more, what this _isn't_. He's not certain what it _is_ yet.

Because… what is it? One-off fun? Something that might happen again? A casual hookup between two people who both want it, or..?

Kevin doesn't know. The only thing he _does_ know is that there's no way on Earth he can let Naomi find out about any of this. He can't. The woman is his best friend, not to mention someone he admires intensely, and he really doesn't know what he'll do if the line "So I had wild sex with your father," ever comes up.

…OK, don't think about it. For a whole number of reasons, some of them connected to the memories all this evokes.

Hartley looks sideways at him. Kevin can only hope the other man can't read minds.

***

Before long, the helicopter touches down on the front lawn at the Hartley estate. There's another chopper close by, and a number of enforcer cars parked on the driveway, their owners milling around in a come-near-us-and-we'll-stab-you sort of way.

They snap to attention when their boss steps out, though. The captain comes hurrying over, and Kevin is delighted to see that it's Lawrence Lavene, looking like he's had a rough day – albeit one that seems to be ending well. Lawrence flashes him a smile before turning his attention to Hartley.

"Welcome back, sir," he says.

"Lawrence, good to see you," Hartley replies. "Report, please."

"We comprehensively won the day," Lawrence starts out, a smile on his face. "Word has been coming in from the last pockets of fighting. It isn't quite over yet, but it will be soon. And I think this is partly because a number of our units are… taking the opportunity to enjoy themselves."

"I'm glad to hear it," Hartley answers. "You know what I always say: work hard, play hard."

"Quite," Lawrence agrees. "All members of the five families are inside the manor. Ms Belmonte and Ms Wallace got here about fifteen minutes ago, with Ms Belmonte's daughters alongside them. They were the last to arrive."

"Any injuries?"

"None serious. There are medics still on site but everyone who needs attention has received it now."

"Excellent. I know Naomi is already here – we spoke earlier, on the phone – but I take it Lauren is back too?"

"Yes, sir. She and Mr Mallard turned up about a half-hour ago."

Hartley raises an eyebrow. "Well. At least I don't have to go after the pair of them this time," he remarks, offhand, before returning his focus to the immediate situation. "Keep the manor secured," he says to Lawrence. "And get me a report on the remaining pockets of fighting. I need to know what has become of Crimson Holdings' CEO. If they're still alive… we may need to have a little chat."

Kevin tries to keep his expression level at this. It is not easy. Lawrence, for his part, manages a professional nod. "Of course, sir. I'll report back in once I know."

"Thank you."

Lawrence gives Kevin one last grin and moves off, waving for several of his underlings to come over. Leaving them to it, Hartley heads up to the house, with Kevin still in tow.

It really would help if Kevin didn't feel so nervous. He _shouldn't_ seem nervous. He's just spent the afternoon repelling a hostile takeover attempt. He should look _delighted_. And he is – of course he is – but… he has other things on his mind right now.

Like… memories. _Vivid_ memories…

_…cold floor against his back, hands up above his head; bound, held. Fingertips tracing patterns over his skin, signs and sigils in almost-forgotten languages… and then a whisper in his ear… "You look amazing. Like an offering to an old god." A smile. "To me."_

…Kevin rubs a hand over his eyes, trying to focus. Though, right now, it feels as though nothing short of an ice bath is going to make a difference.

He is at least distracted as they head in through the front door of the house. The main reception hall is a familiar hub of activity, and two figures quickly emerge through it: Naomi and Susan.

"Ah, Derek, there you are," Susan says. "You certainly took your time. Was the fighting at HQ that bad?"

"Oh, nothing we couldn't handle," Hartley tells her, easily. "I just… had something else to take care of before we came back."

Susan's eyes flick from her husband and over to Kevin, before flicking to her husband once more with a distinct smirk on her face. "I _see_ ," she says, in a tone of voice that makes Kevin confident that Susan, at least, knows precisely what's been going on. "Well, good. Yes. You know how much I approve of you being _efficient_."

"…This is one of your weird in-jokes, isn't it?" Naomi asks, and mercifully she looks nothing more than bemused by the whole affair.

"Yes, dear," Susan tells her, patting her daughter on the shoulder. "Best to assume that it is."

Naomi gives a little shake of the head and then turns to Kevin. "What about you? You good?"

Kevin nods. "Yes," he says. "Yes, I'm good."

"No getting yourself stabbed this time?"

"Nope." He smiles. "And Azzie had _far_ too much fun."

"I can imagine," Naomi says, and then headtilts. "You sure you're OK? You look… I don't know. Something."

"Oh, Naomi, I'm fine," Kevin insists. "I've just had a long and… _efficient_ day. Defending the company from interlopers, of course. Plus, the radio station has a new weatherman, and I left him with Daniel, and at some point I should probably check he isn't dead."

"Daniel's _very_ good at his job," comes another voice, from off to the side. "I'm sure your new weatherman will be just fine."

"…Hey, Lauren," Kevin says, as the speaker comes over. It is indeed Lauren, with Adam Mallard on her arm, and both of them look…

…well, if he's being honest, they look a lot like Hartley and Kevin himself probably look right now.

They're also covered in blood. A lot of blood. A lot of blood that is very clearly not theirs.

"Lauren, my dear, there you are," Hartley says. "I'm told you and young Adam here went up to Vista Ridge again this afternoon."

"We sure did!" Lauren exclaims, beaming from ear to ear. "We went up with some of Adam's _closest_ colleagues from HR – and some of those terrible people from Crimson Holdings – and… had a nice little chat!"

"And?" Hartley pushes. He obviously doesn't want to go so far as to imply that Adam – and these colleagues of his – might have done good; but, at the same time, if they _have_ , he clearly wants to know.

"Well, all that training you arranged for me on Advanced Interview Technique sure paid off!" Adam says, looking very pleased with himself. "We got plenty of useful information on Crimson Holdings and – get this – we even know where their CEO is hiding out."

"You do?" Hartley replies, suddenly all business again.

"We do," Lauren answers, expression the very picture of smug satisfaction. "All thanks to Adam. Well… I helped. I helped a _lot_."

"It was a team effort," Adam insists, in a perfect managerial tone.

"Quite," says Hartley, dryly. "So what's the location?"

"It's a hidden bunker, some distance north-west of the city," Adam tells him. "Crimson Holdings managed to get it established without our people noticing. But we know now. And we thought… _I_ thought… it should be you who leads us up there, to strike the final blow."

He's being deliberately ingratiating, no doubt about it. The trouble is, he has precisely what Hartley wants right now, and the man is too smart – and too focused – to let family politics get in the way of destroying his enemies.

"In that case… we had better make preparations to head out," Hartley says. "Is the place heavily guarded?"

"From the sounds of it, no," Adam replies, smiling even more. "A small group of us should be enough."

"Isn't this just the _best_ news you've heard all day?" Lauren gushes.

"It is definitely good news," is as much as Hartley will concede. "Get a team of enforcers together and have them prepare the helicopters. Susan, my love, see if anyone else from the Board wants to join us. Make it clear this one is optional. I know Nina, certainly, may well want to stay back."

"I think Nina might want to be the first one onto the chopper," Susan points out, smiling, "but yes, of course, I'll spread the word."

She leans in, kissing her husband on the cheek and then whispering something in his ear, before heading off, that smile still on her face. Lauren and Adam head off too, arm in arm, to get the enforcers together as instructed.

Hartley turns to Kevin and Naomi. "Would you two give me a moment? There's something I must take care of."

"Of course," Kevin replies. "Do you want me on this outing too?"

"Absolutely," Hartley tells him. "There's nowhere else I'd rather have you. I won't be gone long."

And he gives them both a nod, disappearing off upstairs, leaving Kevin and Naomi alone.

"You _sure_ you're OK?" Naomi pushes, once no one else can overhear.

"I'm sure!" Kevin insists, as brightly as he can. "You know me and hostile takeovers…"

"Yes, I do," Naomi replies. "The last one ended with you almost bleeding to death in the street."

"Hardly," Kevin says. "I got myself a little bit stabbed, but it wasn't _serious_."

"Kevin, it was. But… that's beside the point. And you… you know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

"Sure I do! You're my best friend, Naomi, you know that."

"I do," Naomi replies, putting a hand on his shoulder. She looks down for a moment, as if she wants to say something else, but when she looks up once more, her expression is businesslike again. "We should find Darla. She'll kill me if I don't let her join us on this trip."

"She might kill Adam if you _do_ ," Kevin points out.

"And no one here will mind…" Naomi replies, a little slyly. "Come along, you. And… just remember what I said, OK?"

"I will," Kevin promises.

And he will. Of course he will. He appreciates it more than he could ever put into words.

But that doesn't mean he can tell Naomi the truth. Not in this case.

There are some things you just can't say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...So. Uhm. Yes. Then _that_ happened. The whole Kevin/Hartley thing is pretty much the reason I originally decided to start writing this fic, way back at the beginning of the year. Usually, my Kevin muse will tell me anything - whether I want him to or not! - but when I started getting weird flashes of _this_ , he steadfastly refused to talk about it. For days. And that alone was enough to pique my interest, to the point where I realised I was going to have to start writing it out. But even after six months of mental preparation, finally getting to that cruicial scene was quite an experience!
> 
> Needless to say, there are going to be repercussions. If nothing else, the scene with Hartley at the end of _On the Nature of Love and Chirality_ is WAY more messed-up in light of all this! I even scared myself a little... ;-)
> 
> Coming Up Next: It ain't nothing but a family thing. A great big family thing, Desert-Bluffs-style.


	11. Tukate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back with another chapter of this thing! Regular readers may also note that the rating has jumped from Mature to Explicit - this is something that I expected to happen eventually, as a result of a certain someone who hasn't appeared yet (but you can probably guess if you've read the main Chiralityverse series) though it has ended up happening rather sooner than planned.
> 
> Ah well. Life is full of nice surprises! ;-)

**Tukate**

_Daughter_

***

It's very, very late by the time everyone gets back to the mansion. _Very_ late. Though possibly it counts as early now. Their group trip to the hidden bunker – at a little place called Corona Valley – has been _quite_ eventful, and Kevin is confident that only adrenaline is keeping him going by this point.

Well. Possibly adrenaline and the general mood of the group, which is hovering somewhere between bloodlust and ecstasy. He's fought alongside most of them before – though not all – but he certainly hasn't fought alongside all of them at the same time.

The last vestiges of Crimson Holdings' people were indeed holed up at Vista Ridge, along with their CEO. Cutting a path through to them was hardly difficult, and when it was all over there was simply no doubt as to the other company's future.

Or lack thereof. Whilst certain parts of Xanatos Tech were absorbed into Strexcorp following the events at the turn of the millennium, there's nothing _left_ of Crimson Holdings, by the end. Literally and metaphorically.

The victorious Strexcorp team stagger from their helicopters and into the mansion. Several have their arms around each other – some platonically and some very much _not_ platonically – and, if you didn't know better, you could be forgiven for thinking they'd all just come in from a night out drinking.

…OK, a night out drinking _and_ getting covered in blood. Though it's hardly out of place in Desert Bluffs.

"Now _that_ went well," Hartley declares.

"It went _spectacularly_ ," Hikaru Tachibana enthuses. He's still holding a knife in each hand, as if hoping someone else might be about to jump them. Or possibly just because he likes knives.

"We should celebrate!" Nina Belmonte says. She has an arm around Lilith, and Kevin can't help but feel that Hartley isn't the only member of the Management Board with an open relationship. Although, given the way they all are around each other…

…OK, why didn't he notice that before?

"Scotch for everyone!" Naomi exclaims, which is perhaps tactical because – given the way she and Darla look right now – the alternative probably involves getting a room. Quickly.

"Seconded!" Darla agrees. "Zara, Tamsen, drinks cabinet. Now!"

The twins don't look wholly delighted by being told what to do, though they mellow when it becomes clear that Darla – and Naomi – are fully intent on coming with them. To help.

Kevin is just about to go and help too when he's stopped in his tracks by Hartley draping an arm around his shoulders. It _looks_ platonic enough, and the man doesn't do anything more, but it still makes Kevin feel a little like a rabbit caught in headlights.

It would probably be easier if he didn't enjoy it. Seriously, what is with him today?

"You were simply magnificent," Hartley breathes in his ear. "I could watch you fight for hours and never get tired of it."

"I do my best," Kevin replies, trying to stay focused before the only alternative is to beg the other man to pull him into the nearest empty room. And there is no way _that_ would go unnoticed.

Off to the side, and looking very much like they're having similar – if less cautious – thoughts, Lauren and Adam start making out again. They've been doing that a lot since Corona Valley. Though this time they're interrupted as Naomi comes walking back in, a bottle of Scotch in either hand, pausing in her tracks and scowling.

"Smiling God's sake, get a room!" she exclaims, glowering at her parents as if fully expecting them to tell their eldest the same.

But the mood of the group is too good, as evidenced by the fact that even Hartley himself does not look fazed. "Let them have their fun, Naomi," he says, without letting go of Kevin.

The only mercy in all this is that Lauren and Adam are enough to distract Naomi from paying too much attention to her father.

"Yeah, Naomi, no one complains when your other half raises the dead!" Lauren points out, primly, although the effect is somewhat muted by the fact that she really doesn't look ready to put Adam down any time soon.

Naomi scowls some more. "Fine, then. No Scotch for you!"

Lauren scowls back, but doesn't look nearly as put-out as Naomi is obviously aiming for. " _Anyway_ ," she says, "this is just the _perfect_ time to tell you all my big news!"

The room goes suddenly silent, which makes Lauren's expression light up. "Shall I do the honours, sweetie?" she asks Adam.

He cups her face in both hands. "Absolutely, my darling."

Standing a little out of sight, in the doorway, Darla makes _quite_ a face at this, and luckily Kevin manages not to laugh in response.

" _Well_ , everyone," Lauren goes on, obviously very much enjoying being the centre of attention, "after what happened at Corona Valley, Adam asked me a _very_ important question."

"…Oh, _Smiling God_ ," Naomi exclaims, clearly realising, though Lauren acts as though the exclamation was out of joy and not something quite different.

"… _We're engaged!_ " Lauren practically squeaks.

Stunned silence prevails.

"We're going to need more Scotch in here!" Naomi calls out.

***

Despite the initial shock, everyone manages to do a very good job of seeming nothing but pleased for Lauren and Adam, even though both of her parents are clearly not at all sold on their future son-in-law. There's no denying that he and Lauren are very attached to each other, and Adam _was_ the one who led them to that hidden bunker, and the lingering high of that victory has quite an effect.

Preparations for the wedding are soon in full-swing, with the event promising to be one of the most extravagant that Desert Bluffs has ever seen. The big day finally rolls around, and Kevin can't deny that he's looking forward to it, as he does his broadcast – earlier than usual – on the morning in question.

 _"…which is why you really_ must _get a permit before conducting summoning rituals of that magnitude. Cleanup at the aquarium is expected to last at least two weeks, and citizens are asked to report any rogue octopus sightings to their local enforcer station. Keep those eyes open, Desert Bluffs!"_

 _"Well, before we wrap up for today, I simply must remind you all that this afternoon is the long-awaited wedding of Lauren Hartley, eldest daughter of Strexcorp CEO Derek Hartley, and Adam Mallard, now a senior manager in the HR department. Lauren and Adam's wedding is set to be_ the _social event of the season, and all of Strexcorp's notables will be there. I've been looking forward to it for weeks! And I'm sure each and every one of you will join me in wishing Lauren and Adam all the happiness in the world, both today and for all the days to come. This is so exciting! Plus, I love a good party, and you can just bet that this will be one to remember!"_

_"Tune in tomorrow for all the news – and gossip – from the Hartley-Mallard wedding, along with an update on those escaped octopi! And, as always, until next time, Desert Bluffs. Until next time…"_

***

" _'All of Strexcorp's notables will be there'_ ," Daniel quotes back at him, lurking in the doorway to Kevin's office a short time later.

Kevin looks up, beaming at his producer. "That's right!" he enthuses. "I'm so excited. The Hartleys throw _the_ best parties. Work hard, play hard, remember?"

"I remember," Daniel says, automatically. "Although, _I_ didn't get an invite."

"…You could come as my plus-one?" Kevin suggests. "Totally platonically, of course. But you could."

Daniel scowls even more than usual. "Kevin," he says, flatly, "I would rather boil my own head."

"…Oh," Kevin replies. There is just no being nice to some people. "Well, OK. If you're sure."

"I am very sure. And how is it that the Hartleys _still_ like having you around?"

Kevin shrugs. He's long since learnt that being coy about his extracurricular activities doesn't work on Daniel. Bluntness is the most effective response. "Because I'm good at killing people for them," he answers. "Also, I'm a super-nice guy. Mustn't forget that!"

"…I have things to do, Kevin," Daniel tells him, even more flatly, as if _he_ wasn't the one hovering in _Kevin's_ office doorway.

"Me too!" Kevin agrees. "Before the playing hard comes the working hard. Mustn't forget that either."

Daniel just scowls at him and walks off without another word.

Some people have no sense of fun!

***

As the sun sets on Desert Bluffs, the sky above the Hartley mansion is lit up by hundreds of fireworks; a great sea of colour sparking across the void, filling the air with strange, glittering shadows. Down below, a very involved garden party is in full-swing, groups of people milling about, drinking and talking. Some even dancing. Kevin has not succumbed to the dancing part yet, but he can see it happening before the end of the night.

Especially if Darla gets her way. She's been trying to persuade him since the band first struck up, and he can only resist for so long.

At the centre of it all, resplendent in crystal-white – which shows off the blood just _that_ much better – Lauren stands with Adam on her arm, laughing and talking with a large group of their friends.

She looks happy, and it makes Kevin happy to see. Smiling God knows the woman has waited long enough.

He's been moving between groups of people himself, talking to various friends and colleagues but never staying long. And though this is partly so he can talk to as many people as possible, it's also because a strange sense of unease keeps catching him.

Something isn't right. And _everything_ should be right, on tonight of all nights.

As he stands, watching the crowd, a familiar figure steps up to his right side. "Kevin."

He gives a nod. "Lawrence."

They both stand staring at the party, from their viewpoint at its periphery.

"Something isn't right," Kevin says. He wouldn't mention this to most people – not wanting to alarm them – but he knows he can tell Lawrence.

"Agreed," Lawrence replies. "I can't put my finger on it, but something most definitely feels awry. Do you think we should warn Mr Hartley?"

Kevin shakes his head, even though both men are still staring unblinking at the crowd. "No. I don't want to worry him. And I certainly don't want to disrupt Lauren and Adam's evening. Whatever this is… you and I can put a stop to it."

Now Lawrence does look sideways at him. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure. And… yes. Yes. Over there, on the left, just next to the drinks table. You see the guy in the grey suit?"

Lawrence looks back at the crowd, scanning slowly over it so he isn't suddenly staring in the same direction as Kevin. "Yes," he answers, after a moment.

"You know who he is?"

"No. I don't recognise him."

"Me neither. And I reviewed the entire guestlist this afternoon. Lawrence… I think we need to have a quiet chat with that guy."

Even though they're both now staring out at the crowd again, Kevin knows Lawrence is smiling. He can hear it in the man's voice, as he replies. "Seconded. How do you want to play this?"

Kevin gives it a moment's thought, mind sharpening more and more as he focuses on the immediate situation. "The groundskeeper's hut is not far from here. It's just around the side of the house, near the rose garden. Meet me there. I'll make sure to have our uninvited guest in tow."

"You're certain you don't need backup?"

"Not for this part. For this part, all I need is a smile and a few careful words. The backup part will be when we get to that hut."

Lawrence looks sideways at him again. "You're enjoying this."

"I am now that I know who I'm looking for."

With the plan decided on, both men move. Lawrence has soon disappeared through the crowd, leaving Kevin to approach their target directly. The man in question is still standing by the drinks table – though there's no glass in his hand – and watching the crowd just a little too obviously.

Brightest smile in place, Kevin steps up to his target. "Hi there," he starts out.

The man seems a little surprised, but recovers himself well enough. "Hello," he says. "Is there something I can help you with?"

Kevin's expression does not waver. "I just thought I'd come say hi." And then, without leaving space for the man to object, he goes on, "So, tell me, bride or groom?"

"Groom," the man answers. "I used to work with Adam in HR. Though I'm in Logistics now."

It's been a long time since the purge, but any mention of Logistics still makes Kevin hyper-vigilant. And ever so slightly on edge. "I see," he says, not letting the reaction show. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"I didn't give it yet. I'm Owen. Owen Devereaux. And you're the guy from the radio."

"That's right. Kevin."

They shake hands. As soon as they break contact, Kevin headtilts in the direction of the rose garden. "Actually, I'm looking for people to help me with something. A few of us are putting together a surprise for Adam. If you're an old friend and colleague, you'd be just perfect."

"Oh?" Owen replies. It's hard to be sure whether he's concerned or intrigued by this smoothly-told lie, but Kevin presses on regardless.

"Yes," he says. "You want to come see? It won't take long."

"Uh… sure," Owen agrees. "Lead on."

The man is certainly pretty convincing, and Kevin can't deny a few flickers of doubt as to Owen's story. But he has to find out, one way or another. Better to be wrong through over-vigilance than lack of it.

They slip away from the crowd – at least this is going to be off the radar, however it plays out – and along a path lined by hedges, stepping into the secluded rose garden. Beyond the lights of the party, it's pretty dark, which means that the full effect of the twisted, blood-spattered garden is somewhat lost. But this is no time for sightseeing.

"Where exactly are we going?" Owen asks, voice wavering a little.

"In there," Kevin says, pointing to the large hut at the far corner of the hedge-encircled garden. May as well be honest about this part, at least.

"I… OK. What exactly is this surprise?"

"You'll see."

They make it a few more steps before Owen wavers again, stopping dead in his tracks this time. "…Something isn't right," he says. "You're not even a friend of the groom. You're a friend of the bride."

"I'm a friend to everyone I meet," Kevin replies, knowing now that he's going to have to take more decisive action, but waiting until the last possible second before he does.

"Even so," Owen pushes on, obviously trying to sound as firm as he can, "I think you should tell me what's really–"

Seeing no other option, Kevin draws his knife very quickly, lifting it to Owen's neck. The man freezes, staring at him in alarm.

"What in the name of the Smiling God are you–?"

" _Shush_ ," Kevin interrupts, pointedly. "Needless to say, if you even _think_ about screaming, you'll be dead before you're done drawing breath. Now keep walking."

Owen doesn't move. Kevin sighs, grabs hold of him, turns him roughly around, and pushes him in the direction of the hut and – luckily for them both – this time Owen takes the hint. When they get close, the door swings open and Lawrence steps out, seizing hold of Owen and dragging him inside, leaving Kevin to follow, closing the door again as he goes.

And _now_ they can have a little talk. There's lighting inside the hut – not a lot, but enough to make it seem bright in comparison with outside – and Lawrence has helpfully found a chair, which he pushes Owen into. The man stares up at them both, eyes wide with a mixture of alarm and anger.

"What do you think you're playing at?" he hisses.

"We could ask you the same," Lawrence replies, in his most pleasant tone of voice. He flicks his eyes over to Kevin. "Did he say much?"

"Only a little," Kevin replies, deliberately toying with his knife as he talks. "He says his name is Owen Devereaux, and he's an old colleague of Mr Mallard's from HR. Though he's based in Logistics now."

"I see," Lawrence says. "Well, Mr Devereaux, you are most certainly not on the guestlist. You want to tell us what you're doing here?"

"I _am_ on the guestlist!" Owen insists. "Why would I be here otherwise?"

"Why indeed?" Lawrence asks, headtilting. "So I'll ask you again, more plainly this time: what are you doing here?"

Owen's eyes narrow, and he doesn't say a word.

Lawrence sighs. "Mr Devereaux, this can go one of two ways. Either you talk to me, or you talk to Kevin. And right now, you'd rather talk to me. I'm an enforcer captain. Official. Regulated. Whereas Kevin here is a close personal friend of the Hartley family. _Very_ close. And what _he_ does for them is rather more _un_ official."

"I am here as a guest of Adam's," Owen insists, looking like he wants to get angry but doesn't quite dare. "I have come to join him in celebrating his marriage to the Hartley girl."

" _Lauren_ ," Kevin cuts in, firmly. Bristling, almost. "Her name is Lauren. And I don't like your tone."

They're close. They're so close. He can feel it. But this guy, even untrained, is not going to crack without a sharp push.

Kevin just has to hope Lawrence will approve. Without hesitating, he steps in, pressing the blade of his knife under Owen's jaw and forcing his head back.

"Do not make Lawrence ask again," Kevin says. He can feel the light inside his mind now: bright, brilliant, radiant.

Resplendent. _Terrible_. Thrumming. _Burning_. An angel song that reminds him he can do _anything_.

Maybe it's the look in his eyes that undoes Owen. Maybe it's the blade. Maybe the man just can't take any more.

"…I came here to kill her," he whispers.

"To kill whom?"

"The Hartley girl." A nervous swallow. "Lauren. I came here to kill Lauren Hartley."

"Why?" Kevin pushes.

"Why not?" Owen hisses. "They're the enemy. _Strexcorp_ is the enemy. And I wanted to deny them yet another night of victory."

"You're one of the dissidents," Lawrence breathes. "Your lot have been oddly quiet of late."

"Biding our time," Owen throws back, with as much venom as he can muster with Kevin's blade still at his throat. "If we were going to make a move, we wanted it to be something big. That's why we came here tonight to–"

"… _We_?" Kevin interrupts.

Owen goes pale.

"There's more than one of them," Kevin says, keeping his blade in place but looking urgently at Lawrence. "I have to get back out there. _We_ have to get back out there."

"Agreed," Lawrence replies, before turning on Owen again. "How many of you?"

Silence. Owen won't say a word. And they no longer have time for this.

"Kill him," Lawrence says to Kevin. And whilst both men have no intention of giving their prisoner such a quick way out, that doesn't mean they can't imply otherwise.

" _Gladly_ ," Kevin replies, pulling back with the knife as if to use it.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Owen shrieks. "All right, all right, just let me live and I'll tell you!"

"Make it quick," Lawrence pushes. "We do not have all evening. And there's a very loud necromancer who _really_ wants to persuade Kevin to dance."

"You _know_ about that?" Kevin says, glancing at Lawrence without lowering his knife.

"Sure I do. Darla asked me to tell you. It's why I was looking for you in the first place."

"You two are _insane!_ " Owen shouts. "What is _wrong_ with you?"

"Nothing some more wine and a little blood won't fix," Kevin answers, brightly. "Now. Who else is here with you? How many of them?"

"…Just one," Owen answers, sagging down in surrender. "His name is Jake Cillian."

Kevin presses the knife to Owen's neck again. "What does he look like?"

"Tall. Thin. Red hair. Wearing a black suit."

"And he's the only one?"

"Yes!" Owen insists.

Kevin stares at the man for a moment, then looks over to Lawrence. "Secure him. I'm sure your people will want to talk to him further when this is dealt with. And _I_ will want to talk to him further if he _lied_. Lying is _bad_ , Owen. You know that, right?"

"Yes! Yes! I'm telling you the truth!"

"I do hope so. For your sake. Lawrence, I'm going back out there. Join me as soon as you can?"

"Will do," Lawrence agrees. "And, Kevin?"

"Yes?"

"Be careful. Also, try not to murder anyone in the middle of Lauren and Adam's party."

"…No promises!" Kevin says, perhaps more brightly than is necessary.

And, leaving Lawrence to deal with Owen, he hurries off.

Now the hunt is really on.

***

When Kevin gets back to the party, everything still seems to be going well, meaning that whatever this Jake Cillian is planning, he hasn't done it yet.

All the more reason to find him as soon as possible.

Kevin stands at the edge of the crowd, eyes scanning the sea of faces, searching for the one he needs to locate. He realises, midway through, that he still has his knife drawn, and slips it away – for now – in the hope of staying vaguely inconspicuous.

And that's when Darla steps up to his side. "Hey there, you."

"Hey yourself."

" _So_ … dancing?" Darla pushes, and even though Kevin is still watching the crowd, he can hear the grin in her voice. "You and me? Totally platonically? Naomi will _flip_."

"Uh… soon, I promise," Kevin replies.

Darla glances sideways at him, obviously about to press the issue, but stops when she clearly catches the look in his eyes. "Kevin, what is it?"

"Lawrence and I have a dissident locked in the hut in the rose garden," Kevin replies. "He and another man came here tonight to kill Lauren. I'm looking for the other guy."

"Shouldn't we warn Lauren?" Darla asks.

"Probably," Kevin admits. "I'm trying to do it without causing a scene."

"You? Really?"

"Oh, shush! If you want to be helpful, I'm looking for a tall, redheaded guy dressed in black."

"Like that guy?" Darla asks, surreptitiously pointing.

"Yes," Kevin replies, drawing his knife again. " _Precisely_ like that guy."

The man in question is moving through the crowd, and he's heading in Lauren's direction. And he's already close.

"Not good," Kevin mutters, setting off into the crowd at once. "Not good, not good…"

The world feels as though it's shrinking down, and down, becoming just this place, this moment, this breath.

This heartbeat.

The redheaded man draws a knife. He's close. Close enough.

"For Desert Bluffs!" Jake Cillian yells.

Well. There goes doing this quietly. Before anyone has time to react – and certainly before Jake can lunge at Lauren – Kevin steps up behind the man and stabs him squarely in the back.

"For _Strexcorp_ ," he whispers in Jake's ear.

There is suddenly a lot of – wholly understandable – shouting, and most people instinctively back off. Just ahead of them, Lauren and Adam both turn, seeing what's going on and staring in surprise.

Despite it all, Kevin grins. "Congratulations, you two," he says. "Seriously. You make a lovely couple. And I really am sorry about this little interruption. Some people have _no_ manners."

He twists the knife – to make the point – and yanks it back, and Jake Cillian drops to the ground, very much dead.

" _What_ is going on here?" comes the voice of Derek Hartley, carrying across the crowd, which parts at once to let him through. He stops as soon as he sees, staring first at Kevin – who is covered in blood and still holding his knife – and then at the body on the ground.

And then at Kevin again. And is it just the low lighting, or do the other man's eyes go somewhat darker at that?

"My apologies, sir," Kevin says at once, aware that everyone is watching him and not at all used to doing this in front of so many people. "This man was a dissident. He and an accomplice came here tonight in an attempt to murder Lauren."

"I see," Hartley replies. "And you know this how?"

"Lawrence Lavene and I both noticed a man who we couldn't identify," Kevin explains. "We took him aside for a little chat, and he soon confessed to what was really going on: namely, that _this_ man," he gestures to the body with his knife, "was about to murder your firstborn."

"I _see_ ," Hartley says, again. "And this first man you spoke of?"

"Handcuffed to a very robust pipe in the groundskeeper's hut," says Lawrence Lavene, now advancing through the crowd to join them. "I've called in an enforcer unit to take him into custody."

"Indeed?" Hartley replies. "Well. Very good work, the pair of you."

"I'll say," Adam Mallard chips in. "How did you do that so fast?"

Kevin smiles. "Efficiency," he replies. "It's Strexcorp's watchword."

" _Isn't_ it just?" Lauren enthuses. "And all for me?"

"Just doing my job," Kevin tells her.

Things finally start to calm down. Hartley waves in a pair of enforcers to move the body from the lawn, and everyone slowly resumes the conversations they'd been in _prior_ to the unexpected stabbing in the middle of the party.

Though, judging by past experience, no one is likely all that surprised.

"Nicely done," Lawrence tells Kevin, as the latter finally puts his knife away.

"You too," Kevin replies. "We always have made a good team."

"Quite," Lawrence agrees. "I need to go deal with our friend in the groundskeeper's hut. You go enjoy yourself. You earned it. And I think the Hartley-Mallards are about to jump you."

Kevin allows Lawrence a rare save-me expression, then grins and turns to the happy couple, who are indeed advancing on him.

" _That_ was magnificent," Adam says, beaming from ear to ear.

"You sure do know how to cause a scene!" Lauren adds, though she's smiling too. "I should have guessed you'd do _something_ at my wedding. I'm surprised it didn't involve you summoning anything, though."

"Oh, I could still totally do that," Kevin tells her. "Azzie's _way_ fun at parties. And he has this special planar liquor that you _absolutely_ should not drink."

You certainly won't try it more than once, that's for sure.

Adam laughs. "Kevin, you're a delight," he says. "You should totally come join us. I have some friends you simply _have_ to meet."

Well, why not? "I'd be glad to," Kevin agrees.

The friends in question turn out to be a group of six middle-managers from HR. Kevin has seen them before – given that they follow Adam around a lot of the time – but never really spoken to any of them. "I like to think of them as my posse," Adam tells him, introducing the two women and four men one by one. "They're a talented bunch."

"We're _big_ fans," one of the women – Maya – tells Kevin. "Both of your show, and of your _extracurricular_ work."

"Oh, well, thank you!" Kevin tells her. Because it's always nice to be appreciated.

"Could we train with you sometime?" asks Khalid, the tallest of the four men.

"Why not?" Kevin agrees. "I'm all in favour of developing talent. Strexcorp expects nothing less."

"So long as I get to come watch!" Lauren adds.

It's at this point that Darla emerges through the crowd and taps Kevin on the shoulder. " _There_ you are. You're not getting away this time. You. Me. Dancefloor. Now."

"Oooh, yay!" Lauren enthuses, with a positively wicked edge. "Come along, Adam, us too!"

Some days, you just have to give in to the inevitable.

***

It's late. Or possibly early. Or possibly both. Kevin isn't quite sure.

The party doesn't finish until after midnight – so probably 'early', then – and the guests slowly filter off home. All of the family members are staying at the house, which means that Lauren and Adam are in Lauren's old room, Naomi and Darla in Naomi's old room, and Adam's parents (a tellingly quiet pair) are in one of the grander guestrooms.

Kevin himself has been invited to stay as well, so he's back in the guestroom they give him whenever he spends the night – which he has done on quite a few occasions. He drifts off pretty quickly (more than a little tired out by all of the eventually-unavoidable dancing) but wakes after only a couple of hours, finding himself very much unable to sleep again.

After lying in the darkness for a short while, trying to get his mind to switch off, he accepts the inevitable. Getting up, he pulls on his dressing gown and paces out into the dimly-lit corridors, bare feet almost silent on the carpet.

He's always been like this. When he can't sleep, he needs to do something other than lie staring at the ceiling. Better to go for a wander, to step outside and stand in the fresh air, or – if he's really awake – to do something useful.

The house is quiet and still as he walks the corridors, down to the central entrance hall on the ground floor and along. He isn't really thinking about where he's going, and – when he finally gets there – he's struck by the sudden memory that the place in question provokes.

He's in the southern hallway, pacing slowly up the glittering, white-stone steps towards the mezzanine balcony overlooking the south lawn. Beyond the balcony edge, the lawn stretches off into the darkness, lit by flickers of moonlight.

This – right here, against this balcony edge – is where he killed Alan Sanderson all those years ago, on the night he first introduced Naomi to Darla. It seems so long ago now, and yet, standing on the exact same spot, in the pale moonlight, it could almost be yesterday.

Kevin puts his hands on the balcony rail, closing his eyes for a moment. Breathe in. Breathe out. He can feel it, the way he always feels when he does what he does for the good of the company. For the good of this family, who have drawn him in so very close.

It is hard sometimes. But it is always worth it.

"…Kevin?"

The sound of his name makes him jump, aware that he's been lost in his own thoughts and not paying attention to his surroundings. But, far more so, it makes him jump because of who the speaker is, and he turns at once.

"Sir?"

Derek Hartley paces up the stairs towards him. He's wearing a dressing gown of his own, and Kevin is struck by the realisation that he's never seen the man in anything other than a suit before, aside – of course – from the one time when he's seen him without anything at all.

"Are you all right?" Hartley asks, moving to stand close by.

"Oh yes," Kevin answers. "I just couldn't sleep."

The other man smiles. "I'm surprised. Given the evening you had, it's no small wonder you're conscious at all."

Kevin gives a wry little smile of his own. "I could keep going all night if I needed to," he says, which is _supposed_ to be an assertion of his dedication to the cause – it really is! – but ends out sounding _very_ flirtatious.

Oh dear. If nothing else, apparently he hasn't completely recovered from all the wine and champagne yet. He turns back to the view out over the dark lawn, in the hope of saving himself from having to look the other man in the eyes right now.

Though this does mean he misses whatever non-verbal reaction Hartley has to the words. Or, he does until he feels the other man step in right behind him, putting a hand on his hip.

Focusing is suddenly very difficult.

"Maybe what you need is someone to tire you out," Hartley breathes in his ear, and Kevin has to hold rather tightly onto the balcony edge to keep from falling over.

He can't answer straight away, though he knows the silence speaks volumes all on its own.

The other man certainly isn't perturbed. He presses in more, sliding the hand on Kevin's hip a little lower.

"Would you like that?" Hartley murmurs.

" _Yes_ ," Kevin gasps.

And this makes Hartley push that hand right between Kevin's legs, other hand slipping up to press against his chest, keeping him in place.

"Yes _what?_ "

" _Yes, sir_ ," Kevin answers at once, the world going black.

The other man laughs softly in his ear. "I was aiming for 'please'," he remarks. "But I'll take 'sir' as well…"

" _Please, sir_ ," Kevin says, without even thinking about it. He can hardly focus on anything, mentally or visually, and he knows it won't take much for the other man to push him deeper.

This makes Hartley laugh again, sounding _wholly_ delighted. "You _are_ in an ingratiating mood tonight, aren't you?" Both of his hands move to start undoing the front of Kevin's dressing gown, opening it and then stepping back just enough to pull it from his shoulders, tossing the garment aside. Kevin is topless underneath, wearing just pyjama trousers, and he can feel the other man's gaze on his skin, like the kiss of the sun, until Hartley steps in once more.

"Keep your hands on the balcony rail," Hartley tells him, his own starting to slide down between Kevin's legs again. "And bear in mind that – if you're particularly vocal – we might be overheard…"

The truth of the matter is, no one is going to overhear unless they happen to be wandering the corridors at night as well. But the mere thought is enough to give Kevin very good incentive to keep quiet.

It isn't easy, though.

"Yes, sir," Kevin murmurs again. "Anything for y– _oh…_ "

It's at this point that the other man's hand – having already pushed his trousers down enough to grant suitable access – starts to stroke him. _Hard_. Kevin rocks forwards a little, gripping the balcony rail tightly, and Hartley presses in closer, other hand on his hip, holding him still.

"Does that feel good?" Hartley asks, his voice almost a growl, laden with radiance and fire and sex and death and _promise_.

"Yes. Yes, sir. _Yes_."

"You've wanted this for weeks, haven't you? Ever since the first time. Ever since I first showed you just how much you're _mine_."

"…Yes," Kevin has to admit, because he _has_ wanted it, despite trying to keep his focus on something else. His official job. His unofficial job. Anything. Anything but how badly he's wanted the other man to pin him to the nearest wall and render him blissfully incoherent.

" _Yes_ ," Hartley echoes. "I can feel how much you need this. I _know_ you do. So… _beg me_."

The order makes the world white-out in a blazing wash of heat, like they're standing on the surface of the sun.

" _Please, sir_ ," Kevin whispers. "I need you. I need you to pull me apart. To _break_ me apart. I'm yours, sir. Yours. I– …oh, _please please please..!_ "

Hartley gives him a very sharp stroke and then goes still, though he doesn't let go. "You're so good with words," he says, tone laden with pleasure. "I love rendering you incoherent…"

"… _Please_ …" Kevin manages. His lungs feel as though there's no oxygen left in them, and he's coasting a wave of dizzy bliss. "Please… I… I need… please let me…"

The other man laughs softly, wickedly, nipping at the edge of his ear. "Say it. And don't drop the 'sir' this time…"

His voice alone could rip Kevin apart. For a second, he almost wants to resist, just to find out what the consequences might be.

But he never could. He certainly can't right now.

" _Please let me come, sir_ ," he says, half in surrender and half in simple pleading.

" _No_ ," the other man replies, which makes Kevin gasp like he's been hit. "Not yet. Not until I've broken that last flicker of resistance out of you."

"I'm not resisting," Kevin insists, desperately. "I'm not. I would never… I…"

"You would," Hartley tells him. His voice is firm and sure, but there's no anger in it. "You do. Part of you always will. It's why I find you so completely intoxicating. With the right attention, the right focus… I can break you over and over…"

He starts stroking Kevin again, and it's all Kevin can do not to cry out in plaintive, glorious anguish. "I… I…" he tries, but the words won't form. His knuckles are white from how firmly he's holding onto the balcony rail and every inch of his skin – even the parts not being touched – feels hypersensitive.

Kevin wants to beg. Wants to plead. Wants to promise the other man anything – _anything_ – in return for the release he so desperately needs. But what Hartley wants, Kevin doesn't know how to give. Not any more than he already has.

Without thinking about it, Kevin bows his head, going pliant in the other man's grip. It isn't a conscious choice, and it certainly isn't a deliberate one. It just happens, and he doesn't even know he's done it.

But Hartley certainly does. "That's it," he whispers, quietly triumphant. "That's it. Beg me again."

" _Please, sir_ ," Kevin breathes. It's all he can manage.

And this time, it's enough. "Good, good," Hartley tells him. "Come for me."

Kevin doesn't need telling twice. Completion rips through him like a storm in the desert, and it takes every lingering shred of focus to keep from screaming the roof off as he comes, the world going first white and then black as the waves of pleasure break through him. As the last shivers die down, he staggers a little in the other man's grasp, which makes Hartley wrap his arm around Kevin's waist, holding him up.

"Thank you, sir," Kevin murmurs.

"Better?" Hartley asks, a pleased smile in his voice.

"Yes. _Yes_."

"Good. Although… I'm not done with you yet. Not even _close_."

And he isn't. He _really_ isn't.

***

When Kevin wakes up, he's vaguely aware that he's not in his guestroom. He blinks, trying to focus on the ceiling and realising that it's much further away than it ought to be.

What's more, the room he's in is huge, lit by a swathe of flickering candles, and he's lying on what feels very much like the floor. And this…

…OK, this is the giant summoning hall in the mansion. The one that doesn't quite make sense. Kevin blinks at it some more, knowing that this probably won't help, and tries to work out precisely how he…

And that's when the memories flood to the fore. He's flat on his back in the summoning hall and, though he can't quite see it from his current position, he knows – he _remembers_ – that the floor is covered in sigils and circles, and whole phrases in Dzy-an-thyl.

He turns his head and tries not to jump. Derek Hartley is lying at his side, very much awake, head propped on one arm and watching him.

And neither of them has any clothes on.

"I told you that you needed tiring out," Hartley says, looking extremely pleased with himself.

"I'm sorry, sir, I–" Kevin starts off, but the other man just reaches over and lays fingertips over his lips.

"You don't have to apologise. It took some doing. And oh, but I _needed_ that." Hartley strokes his fingers down from Kevin's lips, over his throat and across his chest, starting to idly trace out something. And, though it's a little tricky, Kevin is still hypersensitive enough to work out that the word is in Dzy-an-thyl, and what it means.

'Belonging'. Only… no, no, not quite right, it's…

' _Ownership_ '.

Suddenly, he can hardly breathe again.

"I suppose we should move before everyone wakes up," Hartley remarks, in the easy tone of one who is _not_ rewriting another man's life with a single fingertip.

Even though it feels as though he is.

"…Probably," Kevin manages. "What time is it?"

"Hard to say for sure. Especially in here. But still early, I think. Early enough that no one else will find out what you let me do to you for half the night." Hartley leans in closer, a pleased smile on his lips. "What you _wanted_ me to do to you."

He nips lightly at Kevin's jaw, then puts a hand on his cheek, slowly turning his head so they're eye-to-eye. "I think," he goes on, "that it might have to happen again at some point in the future. When you _really_ need it. Would you like that?"

" _Yes, sir_ ," Kevin answers, without thinking about it. Without _needing_ to think about it.

Hartley smiles again. "Well, then. Until next time…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...So then _that_ happened. Sometimes I think they do this to me deliberately!
> 
> Coming Up Next: One good turn deserves another, and Darla has some big news...


	12. Egeta

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I come with two chapters today, for which - once again - the law of mood whiplash is in full effect! This first one was quite a joy to write, and you can blame it largely on the fact that I've been rewatching a _lot_ of _Downton Abbey_ of late.
> 
> Needless to say, neither I nor the muses are anywhere near as sorry as we should be.
> 
> With thanks to Davechicken for Harold. (...Just wait and see!)

**Egeta**

_Attendant_

***

Mercifully, Kevin makes it back to his room long before anyone else emerges. And though he knows he must seem a little weird at breakfast, later on, not even Naomi comments on it.

And that's a good thing. Because there are some conversations he's not ready to have.

Life returns to whatever passes for normal in Desert Bluffs. A couple more weeks go by, and – aside from an unfortunate accident involving one of the station's interns and the new photocopier – Kevin's life is uneventful.

At least, it is until late one afternoon. He's at the radio station, finishing up some paperwork, when the door to his office practically flies open and Darla Kelsey comes running in.

Very little in the world unsettles Darla. She'll happily threaten – and enact – bloody vengeance on her enemies, and still raises the dead for fun. So to see her looking wild-eyed and stunned is practically unheard of, and Kevin leaps to his feet at once, expecting some kind of severe calamity that will most likely require a certain amount of physical violence to deal with.

"What is it?" he asks at once, moving around the desk to where Darla is standing. "What's happened?"

"I…" Darla starts out. She looks like she's in shock. "I needed to find someone, needed to tell someone, and…"

"Darla," Kevin says, putting his hands on her shoulders in vague hope of calming her down and – very against form – Darla doesn't resist in the slightest. "Darla, what is it?"

"…Naomi asked me to marry her!" Darla nigh-on _squeaks_ , face breaking into the most radiant smile Kevin has ever seen.

The relief hits like a tidal wave, and Kevin pulls Darla into a hug, which – also against form – she seems more than happy to receive.

"Tell me everything!" Kevin says, as he lets go of her. "I need details, and… sweetie, why are you crying?"

Because she is. Kevin doesn't think he's ever seen Darla so much as tear-up before. Not even the time they watched _Titanic_ for movie night, and he was a _wreck_ by the end of that. No pun intended.

"…I never thought this would ever happen!" Darla exclaims. "I mean… we're both women, and it isn't legal anywhere in America yet, but… apparently it _is_ legal in Desert Bluffs, because… because… and I'm quoting Naomi now, 'my dad says Strexcorp is the most progressive city-owning corporate superpower in the US and his daughter gets to marry whoever she darn well pleases'. So… so… Kevin, we're _engaged!_ "

She hugs him again. It's very against form, but it's positively adorable. And oh, but Strexcorp really is just the _best_.

"Come on, I need details!" he implores, as Darla steps back once more. "How did it happen? And where? And oh, is there a ring?"

"There is!" Darla says, showing him the engagement band on her finger, set with a glittering diamond. "It was earlier this afternoon. We went for lunch in that adorable coffee shop we always go to – the one with the mini-muffins, where we had our first proper date – and at the end Naomi got down on one knee and proposed to me! And all the baristas applauded! And… Kevin, seriously, I'm _engaged!_ "

Kevin grips Darla's hands tight. "Congratulations," he says, beaming like the sun. "I am _so_ happy for you and I have _got_ to tell Naomi the same."

"I don't think you'll have to wait long," Darla tells him. "And… and… I sort of have to ask you something."

She says this second part very quickly, and Kevin looks at her in surprise. "What is it?"

"I…" Darla seems nervous again, and it really is weird to see her like this. Even if it is also totally understandable. "…I don't know precisely what we'll do for the wedding, or when it will be, but… would you be my best man?"

Kevin has to concentrate hard not to jump up and down in delight, but he still bounces on his heels. "Of _course_ I will," he tells her. "If you're sure."

"I'm sure," she answers. "You're one of my closest friends and you introduced us in the first place, and… and I don't really have any family left but I have you and you're sort of like that…" This last part is said very fast, too.

Kevin simply has no choice but to hug Darla again at this. Once more, she lets him, though she gives him a little punch on the arm when he lets go.

"Where is Naomi?" he asks. "Has she told Mr and Mrs Hartley yet?"

"She's gone to see them now," Darla explains. "I wanted to come tell you and then I said I'd meet her up at her parents' place. You should come too! You know none of them will mind. You're practically family to them as well."

Kevin beams some more. "Then let's go! Come along, you. I'll drive. And, just so you know, if I'm your best man then you will be getting _the_ best batchelorette party ever. The survivors will probably write songs about it."

Darla grins. "You promise?"

"I promise. Oh, I promise."

***

The survivors do indeed write a song about it. The song is called _'Behold the Many-Headed-One who falls beneath the Endless Blade and rises again as a thrall to the Bride'_.

Kevin has it stuck in his head for days. It does make a nice soundtrack to all the associated dreams, though.

The batchelorette party – a joint one on account of there being two batchelorettes – takes place a week before the wedding, which itself does not happen until the spring. In the ensuing months, there have been plenty of preparations, but little else of note.

And now, here they are. The gap between the batchelorette party and the wedding allows time for the attendees to recover, and Kevin is glad of it. Never mind the Many-Headed-One, the _real_ surprise of the night was discovering that Naomi apparently has a fondness for karaoke.

The flashbacks go well with the song. And the dreams.

It's been an interesting week.

The wedding, much like Lauren and Adam's, is due to take place at the Hartley manor. Lauren, who is Naomi's Maid of Honour, arranges most of the reception, given that the batchelorette party fell to Kevin. And he can't help feeling he got the better deal out of it, karaoke or no karaoke.

Though Lauren is, it must be said, very good at organising things. Kevin stands on the path leading towards the rose garden, on the morning of the wedding, watching as Lauren flits about, telling people what to do and where to put things. And, sometimes, what she'll do to them if they aren't quick about it.

She really is very efficient. Kevin is so glad that matters between them are more normal now. It makes life so much easier, and far more pleasant.

"Hey, you," says a voice at his side.

He turns. It's Naomi, currently still in casual clothes, and looking oddly nervous.

"Hey yourself," he replies. "How're you feeling?"

"Good," she answers. "Weird," she adds, after a pause.

"Good weird?" he asks.

That makes Naomi smile. "Yeah," she says. "Good weird. I still can't quite thank you enough for all you've done."

Kevin turns, putting a hand on her arm. "I didn't do anything," he replies. "Other than help take down that thing at the batchelorette party. But you know I enjoyed it."

"I do," Naomi agrees, with an oddly nostalgic sparkle in her eyes. "I still mean it, though. You introduced us. You made it – made _me_ – so… _normal_."

"Naomi, darling, nothing about you is normal."

She laughs. "Maybe not. But… you know what I mean."

He does. "Yeah. I know what you mean."

They stand side-by-side for a few moments, watching in silence as – out on the lawn – Lauren wrangles a trio of enforcers who are putting up a large marquee.

"Remember when you stabbed that guy at Lauren's wedding?" Naomi asks, so very calmly.

"Sure I do. He was plotting to murder her. In public. At her own wedding! I mean, how rude can you get?"

"Quite. You expecting anything similar this evening?"

Kevin grins over at her. "Are you concerned or hopeful?"

Naomi tries to look innocent. "A little of both, I guess. Although… when all's said and done, a social event _without_ violence would be a welcome thing."

"Somewhat unusual though. Given your family's track record."

"Very true," Naomi agrees, wryly. "Well. I suppose it's distinctive."

"It's certainly that."

Out on the lawn, there's a shriek, followed by rather a lot of shouting. Naomi rolls her eyes. "Looks like Lauren's keeping up the tradition," she says.

"So it would seem," Kevin agrees. "I'd better go check she isn't about to murder half your father's staff."

"I can do that," Naomi starts out, but Kevin shakes his head.

"Naomi, seriously, it's your wedding day," he insists. "Go and become thoroughly chill and wait for the moment when your mother can get all misty-eyed helping you put on that gorgeous dress you won't let anyone else see."

"I don't think my mother is going to get misty-eyed."

"I beg to differ. Now. Shoo. Let me go deal with Lauren."

Naomi smiles. "All right. I owe you one."

"You don't owe me a thing. Now, away with you!"

He waits until Naomi acquiesces and heads off back towards the house before looking out at the lawn again; where, somewhat against form, Lauren appears to have actually summoned her demon and set him on one of the enforcers.

Kevin sighs, then takes a deep breath. "Lauren!" he calls out, in his best diplomatic voice. "Lauren, call off the nice demon and go to your happy place."

"This _is_ my happy place!" she retorts.

And so, with a shake of the head – and still humming _'Behold the Many-Headed-One who falls beneath the Endless Blade and rises again as a thrall to the Bride'_ to himself – Kevin heads over to help.

Or possibly the other thing.

***

It's a while later when Kevin – the incident on the lawn resolved, and now dressed for the wedding – knocks on the door to Darla's room.

In some small concession to tradition, she and Naomi have spent the last night separately. Or, officially they have, at least, though Kevin can't help thinking there might have been a little rule-breaking somewhere along the line.

Right now, though, Darla is alone in the grandest of the guest rooms. When Kevin steps in, she's standing at the open window, brilliant sunlight glowing across her face, and he can't help thinking – cliché though it might be – that she looks just like an angel.

Radiant. Resplendent. Dangerous.

She turns. She's wearing a wedding dress of her own – he'd half-expected her to be opposed to that particular tradition, but seemingly not – and she has a strange look in her eyes as she meets his.

"Oh, sweetie, you look _divine_ ," Kevin enthuses.

Darla actually blushes a little. "Thanks. I didn't know if the dress would work but I think I kinda like it."

"Good. Because it's perfect. And Naomi is going to love it."

"You think so? I hope she does. I mean, I'm not really a dress-y sort of woman, but… it _is_ my wedding, and…"

"Darla, seriously, Naomi will love it. _Everyone_ will love it."

Darla takes a deep breath. "OK. OK, good. I…" She pauses. "…Kevin, I think I'm freaking out a bit."

He gives her an understanding smile. "You're freaking out a lot. But that's OK. You're allowed to do that on your wedding day."

"Don't tell anyone. I'm supposed to be a terrifying necromancer, remember?"

Kevin crosses his heart. "Scout's honour. A terrifying necromancer, got you. No one would ever doubt it… especially after the batchelorette party."

This gets him a grin, which is precisely what he was aiming for. "Too right," Darla agrees. "I still can't quite thank you enough for that."

He beams. "I did promise to make it a night to remember. And you know I'd do anything for you."

"I do," she says. "And… I don't mean this in a bad way, but that's sort of weird."

"Why? You're an amazing person and you're one of my two best friends in the whole world. And you're marrying the other."

"I… I know, but…"

Kevin paces closer, taking Darla's hands and holding them tight, giving her room to speak.

"…I had no family for so long," she goes on, finally. Darla never talks about her family – all Kevin knows is that she's the only one left – so it's odd to hear her bring it up. Though perhaps not so surprising, given the particular circumstances. "I had to do it all on my own. And then you came along and… and just gave me this whole other one. And they wanted me. They _want_ me. And…"

Darla actually looks like she's going to cry. Kevin pulls her into a careful hug – partly not to crease her dress, and partly so she doesn't overreact and try to stab him – and Darla lets it happen without any hint of opposition.

"How could I not?" Kevin tells her. "I knew I liked you the moment I realised you weren't one of those dissidents. And within about five minutes, I knew Naomi would like you too. And you know what she means to me. I wouldn't have introduced her to anyone I didn't think was perfect."

This gets him a very light punch to the arm. "Stop it, you," Darla murmurs. "I am not going to do the whole crying thing."

Though she already is, a little bit.

Kevin steps back. "You ready for this?" he asks her.

Darla takes a deep breath, and nods. "Yes," she says. "I am ready for this."

Of course she is. And she's going to be wonderful. Kevin knows it. He offers her his arm. "Well, then. Shall we?"

"Yes. Yes, we shall."

They set off walking, slowly, side by side.

"I really do like the dress."

"Thanks. I wanted something I could dance in."

"I figured as much." A beat. "The knife is a nice touch."

"As if I'd get married without a weapon on my person. Besides, given the track record of weddings in this place, it seemed sensible."

Kevin grins. "Touché. How'd you get it to stay on like that?"

"Dark magic."

"You never cease to amaze me."

Darla pats him on the arm. "And I never will, Kevin. I never will. Besides, I know you've got a knife of your own under that immaculately-tailored jacket of yours. So, if you have to stab anyone at my wedding, consider giving me a look-in?"

He grins even more. "It's a promise."

***

The marquee for the wedding itself has been set up at the front of the house, where it will best catch the light of the noonday sun. Kevin walks Darla down the aisle, whilst Mr Hartley – of course – walks Naomi down.

When the two women are finally side-by-side, they grip hands, and Kevin can't help a smile. In fact, he's smiling right through it all: the vows, the rings, the invocation to the planes and the acclamations to the Smiling God.

And then the two women are married, and Kevin can't help feeling that the sun itself seems to brighten in response.

Once the ceremony is over, the attendees start to slowly disperse and filter around to the back of the manor, where the reception is being held (and which only minimal bloodshed was required to finally arrange).

But Kevin doesn't get very far. He's barely left his seat when someone grabs his arm and pulls him to the side.

It's Lauren. "We have a problem," she says, softly, and all business.

"We do?" Kevin replies, instantly starting to flick his eyes over the crowd, looking for potential infiltrators.

"Yes," Lauren answers. "A serious problem."

"Is someone here who shouldn't be? One of the dissidents? Do you know who it is?"

Lauren looks at him in surprise. "What? Oh, no, Kevin, nothing like that. Something _far_ worse."

"Worse than dissidents?" Kevin says, now really starting to worry. "What could be worse than dissidents? Or demons? Is it demons?"

"No!" Lauren exclaims, and pulls him to the side a little more, so she can point surreptitiously where no one will notice. "It's worse than demons too. Worse than _anything_."

"What could be worse than–?" Kevin now tries, vaguely aware that this conversation is not going the way either of them wants it to.

Lauren points again, and now Kevin realises that she's pointing to a person.

" _Aunt Mabel_ ," Lauren declares.

"Aunt Mabel? I take it she's your mother's sister?"

"That's right," Lauren says. "Mom's _elder_ sister. Mabel married an up-and-coming businessman from New York City way back when she was a young woman, and everyone thought she'd scooped the top prize. But then Mom married Dad, and you know how well _that_ turned out. Mabel's been a little sore about it all ever since. We don't see much of her, and not just because she lives out of state."

Kevin watches the woman in question from a distance, considering all this. "So what's the problem? Surely she was at your wedding too?"

Lauren rolls her eyes. "Nope. No, dear Aunt Mabel was on a six-week cruise when Adam and I got married. She complained bitterly about how inconsiderate our scheduling was. But even if she had been there, she wouldn't have been like this because… because… OK, look. Don't take this the wrong way, but my wedding was precisely what Mabel thought appropriate for a woman in my position. I _married_ someone who Mabel thought appropriate for a woman in my position."

Now Kevin narrows his eyes, looking sideways at Lauren and very much wanting an explanation. "What are you saying?"

Lauren seems somewhat uncomfortable. "Mabel does not approve of Darla. At _all_. She and Mom had _quite_ a fight about it when she arrived at the house yesterday evening."

This makes Kevin bristle at once, and he has to concentrate to keep his expression level. "How could _anyone_ not approve of Darla?" he says, in full defensive-best-friend mode. "Is this because she's a woman?"

"I don't know," Lauren admits. "I just know that Mabel and Mom went off and yelled at each other for some time yesterday and…" She sighs, looking down. "…And I don't want anything ruining Naomi's big day, all right?"

Kevin can't help a smile at this. "Awwww, you _do_ care!" he exclaims.

"Yes, yes, I care, OK? Keep it down! Look, would you..?" Another sigh. "Would you please find out what her problem is? And maybe deal with it? _Without_ murdering her?" Lauren adds, no doubt having seen the rather dark look in Kevin's eyes.

And this is him being restrained. _No one_ gets to imply that Naomi and Darla aren't perfect together. _No one_. And _especially_ if it's all a matter of gender.

"I mean it, Kevin," Lauren says, when Kevin doesn't reply straight away. "Please do not murder my aunt."

"No promises," Kevin murmurs, now watching the woman in question with hawkish intent.

"Kevin!"

"…OK, fine. No murdering. But if she goes for me first, I totally get let off if I have to kill her in self-defence."

Lauren actually facepalms. "I can see why Dad finds you so useful."

***

It takes Kevin a little while to catch up with his target. There are a lot of people milling about, and it soon becomes clear that the best course of action is to go with the flow, and follow them all round to the reception marquee. So, by the time he does manage to catch up with the infamous Aunt Mabel, the woman in question is standing at the edge of one of the high awnings, just out of the sun, drinking what looks to be pink champagne from under the brim of a rather over-enthusiastic hat.

Professional smile in place, Kevin steps up to her. "Hi there," he says, brightly. "You must be Mrs Hartley's sister."

The woman looks him up and down before meeting his eyes. "That's right," she answers, in a clipped tone not at all unlike Lauren's, and then holds out a hand. "Mabel. Mabel Darby-Smyth, of the New York Smyths. No doubt you've heard of us, Mr…"

"Kevin," he answers, brightly, shaking her hand with the expression of a man who is _not_ running through all the ways he could kill you right now. "And no, no, I haven't."

Mabel Darby-Smyth – of the New York Smyths – looks unimpressed but unsurprised. "That happens a lot when I come out here. You people are all so – forgive me – _provincial_."

"Well, we do prefer it that way. And aren't you a local girl yourself?"

"A local _woman_ , thank you very much, and not anymore," Mabel insists, imperiously. "I may have grown up in Desert Bluffs, but I left as soon as I could. This place is seriously weird, and these days it gives me a _thunderous_ headache. I don't know how you people stand it."

"We like it," Kevin replies, mentally moving on from quick kills to more drawn-out affairs, though without giving away anything in his expression. "So, travel issues aside, are you enjoying the wedding so far?"

Mabel rolls her eyes. "Ugh, which of my relatives put you up to this? Was it my sister? Or my niece? Or…" She glances him up and down again. "…Is this Derek's doing? You have the look of one of _his_ people."

"I am one of Mr Hartley's people, yes," Kevin answers, tone level and calm and pleasant. "His fixer, as it happens." He can't quite help throwing that part in, and the eyeflicker he gets from Mabel in response is more than worth it. "Though, on this occasion, the person who 'put me up to this' was not Mr Hartley."

This gets him another exasperated expression. "Susan, then. Or… no. No." Mabel studies his face for a moment, and there's astuteness in her obsidian-black eyes. "Lauren. Yes. Definitely Lauren. That girl is _just_ like her father. Although… at least _she_ had the decency to marry the right sort."

Kevin can't keep his emotions completely in check at this, though he does manage not to lose it too seriously. "What exactly are you saying?" he demands.

"What do you think I'm saying?" Mabel throws back, taking a long sip of her champagne before she speaks again. "Lauren may have Derek's penchant for interference, but she did at least marry a nice, normal businessman. A talented one, too, if what I've heard is true. Naomi, on the other hand, has gone and shacked up with–"

" _Now you listen to me_ ," Kevin interrupts, tone soft and level and utterly deadly, putting a hand on Mabel's arm but no more. "I'm a firm believer in letting people have their own opinions, it's true, but if you for one _second_ imply that there is _anything_ wrong with Naomi marrying another woman, Smiling God help me, you will be dead by the morning and you will _never_ see me coming."

By this point, his other hand is on the hilt of his knife, and not drawing it is becoming harder and harder.

Mabel stares at him in surprise for a long moment and then breaks into oddly melodious laughter. "Oh my, you _are_ something, aren't you? You really think this is because Darla is a woman?"

Kevin lets go of her arm – but not his knife – and stares. "Isn't it?"

"Goodness, no. What kind of witless heathen do you take me for? I have no problem whatsoever with the fact that Naomi has married another woman."

Now Kevin is more than a little taken aback, and – for once – more than a little thrown as well. He tries not to let it show. "Then what, precisely, is your problem?" he demands.

Mabel looks at him as if the answer to this should be obvious, and as if she thinks he's missing something blatant as the day. "What else?" she says. "That woman Naomi just married is a _necromancer_."

Kevin stares, trying not to look too much like his argument – and his righteous indignation – just ran face-first into a wall. "You take issue with the _necromancy_?"

"Of course I do!" Mabel exclaims. "It's simply _ghastly_. Spirit-walking or pyrokinesis, I could live with. Extispicy at a push. God, I'd even prefer _spoon-bending_ to… to _that_."

"What's _wrong_ with necromancy?" Kevin demands. The truth of the matter is, most people are freaked out by it. Even he himself is somewhat unsettled at times. But no way is he letting that prevent him from defending his friend.

 _"What's wrong with necromancy?"_ Mabel repeats. "Ugh, trust someone from the _Bluffs_ to ask a question like that…"

Kevin narrows his eyes. "And what is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Just look at the place!" Mabel says, gesturing to everything in general. "It's drenched in blood and viscera! And I do _not_ want to know what's all over those trees in the centre of town…"

"It's charming!"

"It's hideous. It never _used_ to be like this. _Derek_ has clearly let the place go to the dogs…"

"You say _one more word_ against Mr Hartley and I will forget my promise to behave myself this afternoon…"

Kevin and Mabel are now face-to-face again, eyes narrowed at each other, and Kevin still hasn't taken his hand off his knife. Nor does he intend to.

"Ah, Kevin, I see you finally met my sister."

Susan Hartley moves towards them through the crowd, champagne glass in hand. Like her sister, she's wearing a rather exuberant hat, though it's entirely in keeping with her role as mother of the bride – one of the brides – and a whole lot nicer than Mabel's.

And yes, Kevin _is_ being snarky inside his own head. And no, he doesn't care.

"I did," he answers, in the level tone of a man who does not have his hand on the hilt of his knife. Even though he blatantly does. "We were just discussing your new daughter-in-law."

"Mabel and I had a very similar discussion last night," Susan says, calmly. "Didn't we, Mabel?"

Mabel rolls her eyes once more. "We did. And you were just as intransigent then as your husband's little minion is being now. It's positively _abhorrent_ what you people get up to."

Susan does not waver. "Mabel, you say one more word against my daughter-in-law _or_ my husband's fixer and I will curse you so hard your chakras will implode. For your information, Darla _Hartley_ is a beloved member of this _very_ powerful family and her admittedly unusual life choices just make us love her all the more. And Kevin is a _very_ close personal friend to _all_ of us and we will defend him as if he was our own blood. And _don't_ you forget it."

This gets her a very narrowed look, but it's clear Mabel knows she's beaten. "Fine. _Fine_. Cavort with necromancers all you want. I suppose it's all the same to someone like _you_."

"Yes," Susan says, flatly. "Yes, it is." She holds out an arm. "Come along, Kevin. I think my dear sister has had quite enough attention for one afternoon."

Glad of the smooth escape, Kevin takes her arm and lets her direct him away from the scowling Mabel and back out into the sunshine.

"Smiling God, give me strength," Susan mutters, when they're out of earshot, downing the remnants of her champagne and swapping it for a full glass from the tray of a passing waiter. "I almost wish the wretched woman had been on another of her decadent cruises for _this_ wedding as well."

"I can understand that," Kevin replies. "Thank you for rescuing me. And, you know, for what you said."

"Think nothing of it," Susan tells him, patting him on the chest. "I meant every word. Who sent you after Mabel in the first place? Was it Derek?"

"No, no, it was Lauren."

"Indeed? That's unusually gallant of her."

"I know. But I think she really meant it. Although maybe she was just hoping I'd lose my temper in a fit of righteous indignation and stab your sister to death in the middle of the party. Apparently that's a thing I do at weddings."

Susan laughs. "Apparently so. Well, if you have reason to believe my sister is a dissident, go right ahead. Otherwise… perhaps you should leave her to me."

"I think I'll do that."

"A wise decision."

Before Kevin can say any more, a strange outburst cuts the air: a series of short, sharp yipping sounds, which get gradually louder and louder. He and Susan both turn in time to see something small and white come running down from the house and, at the sight of it, Susan instantly rolls her eyes.

"Oh _no_ ," she mutters. "What did I do to deserve this? Honestly, I can invoke unspeakable powers from all nine Infernal Planes, but I'll be darned if I can cope with my sister for more then ten seconds…"

"What _is_ that?" Kevin has to ask.

"That," Susan replies, in obvious disapproval, "is Harold. Mabel's prized Pomeranian, whom she simply _refuses_ to travel without."

"Oooh, is he cute? Can I pet him?" Kevin says, without thinking.

Susan gives Kevin a sideways glance. "He is the equivalent of H'ygragagogoth walking in canine form," she answers, flatly. "So I wouldn't recommend it."

By now, the small ball of fluffy white hate has honed in on its owner, barrelling past wedding guests in an attempt to reach her. Susan rolls her eyes once more. "Oh, I'd hoped not to have to talk to the woman again for some time," she says, turning in obvious resignation. "You'd better come defend me."

They head back over to Mabel, who has set down her now-empty champagne flute and is in the process of bending to pick up Harold. The dog quietens when he's lifted up, twitching his tiny ears and regarding the world with disdainful black eyes.

"Mabel, why is your dog gatecrashing my daughter's wedding?" Susan asks, flatly, when they're close.

Mabel glances at her sister for a second and then returns her attention to the dog, and Kevin has got to stand by his earlier assertion: he _very_ much wants to pet it. How could you _not_ want to pet something so small and fluffy and _adorable_? And, OK, yes, he much prefers cats, but still. But still!

"Awwwww, did ickle Harry miss his mommy?" Mabel says to the dog.

" _Mabel_ ," Susan pushes, pointedly.

Her sister looks at her. "Oh, lighten up, Susan. Harold isn't hurting anyone. He just didn't like being cooped up indoors. Did you? Did you, my teeny-tiny fluffball?"

Harold yips at her, gnawing affectionately on the edge of Mabel's finger.

"So… he's a Pomeranian?" Kevin says to Mabel, attempting to make vaguely polite conversation. But _only_ because the tiny cute dog could melt anyone's heart, even if it is also pure evil.

"A _teacup_ Pomeranian, thank you very much," Mabel replies, stuffily. "They're _extremely_ fashionable."

"That may be so," Susan says, "but my daughter's wedding is hardly the place for your coffee-cup dog."

" _Teacup_ ," Mabel corrects, sharply, and Harold gives a little yip of agreement.

"I do hope you aren't going to let that creature run riot," comes a voice from the side.

Kevin turns at once, and he's confident Susan won't have missed the reaction. The speaker is, of course, Derek Hartley himself, approaching from the back of the marquee.

Mabel gives him an unimpressed glower. "No, Derek, my little Harold will not _'run riot'_. He is the pinnacle of excellence and proper breeding."

There's an unspoken edge to this statement, though she's smart enough not to take it any further out loud.

Hartley himself looks unfazed. "Indeed? Does that include charging around making a sound like someone hexing an imp?"

"'Hexing a'… gah, can you people _please_ use real words?" Mabel exclaims.

"All of those are real words," Hartley answers, flatly. "As is what I described. Shall I demonstrate?"

"Derek…" Susan starts out, a little warningly, but it's far too late. Hartley gives a sharp wave of the hand and mutters something in Dzy-an-thyl, and seconds later a rift opens in mid-air, depositing a small, lower-plane imp of some variety on the ground nearby.

And OK, a minor summoning it might be, but how he does it so _easily_ , Kevin can't fathom. Nor, indeed, why the other man uses the language of the upper planes to summon something that must be from one of the lower ones. But he doesn't have long to muse on it, though, because Mabel lets out a shriek, shielding Harold the Pomeranian from the imp as if terrified it's going to go for them both.

"What in God's name _is_ that?" she demands.

"It's an imp," Hartley answers. "Eighth plane. Be thankful I only summoned one, because they're much nastier in swarms…"

He says something else in Dzy-an-thyl – the words clearer this time, as if he's happier to be understood – and then snaps his fingers.

And the imp lets out a sound _exactly_ like the noise Harold makes, then promptly implodes.

Susan slaps her husband lightly on the arm. "Show off," she says, lovingly.

Mabel continues to scowl, now shielding Harold even more. "You people are all _very messed-up_ ," she declares, and then stalks off, nose in the air, taking her tiny dog with her.

Hartley shakes his head. "Susan, darling, are you sure you weren't adopted?"

"I'm afraid so," his wife replies. "And I'd thank you for that, but you really shouldn't be hexing extra-planars at high social occasions. Even lower-plane imps."

"I'll try not to make a habit of it," Hartley replies, at least vaguely convincingly. "Well, Kevin, how did your first meeting with my sister-in-law go?"

"Not well, sir," Kevin answers. "I may have threatened her health and wellbeing. Possibly more than once."

"Indeed? No doubt you had a good reason."

"Absolutely. Mrs Darby-Smyth does not approve of your new daughter-in-law. Because of the necromancy."

Hartley raises an eyebrow. "I _see_. Some people are _so_ stuck in the past. Don't they realise it's the twenty-first century?"

"Quite," Susan agrees. "But I think perhaps the two of you should leave Mabel to me. No promises on _Harold_ , though. He looks a little too like a tiny malevolent glowing cloud for my taste, and you know how dangerous _those_ are."

Off to the side, Harold starts yipping loudly at something again. Susan pinches the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes for a moment. "…Leave her to me. I mean it. Kevin, please keep my husband company."

And she stalks off in her sister's direction, leaving Kevin and Hartley alone. Or, as alone as you can be in a huge crowd of people.

"I bet our Research and Development team could come up with a suitable alternative for that awful yipping thing," Hartley remarks, apropos of nothing. "Something small, fluffy and _extremely_ well-behaved."

"With adorable black eyes?" Kevin has to add, because if they're having this weird moment, they're having it.

"Absolutely. I shall ask Andrew to draft a memo to R and D on Monday morning." Hartley pauses, as if re-composing himself, and then turns to Kevin as if he _hasn't_ just been contemplating the creation of some kind of Strex-designed pet.

Strexpet?

"Any signs of dissident activity?" Hartley now asks, in his back-to-business voice.

Kevin shakes his head. "No, sir. But I'm keeping my eyes open."

"I know I can count on you."

"Always."

They stand in silence for a moment, watching the party, and then Hartley reaches over, putting a hand on Kevin's shoulder. It's a friendly, innocuous gesture… which means that anyone glancing in their direction likely won't notice the part where he also reaches to trace a fingertip over the back of Kevin's neck, just above the line of his shirt collar.

"To that effect," Hartley says, very softly, "if you happen to find yourself wide-awake in the middle of the night again… I can definitely see myself doing the same. On the southern balcony. At about 3am…"

Kevin shivers, though he tries to hide it. "Well, like you said, sir… you can always count on me."

***

The party stretches on long past sunset. Naomi and Darla are the first to take to the dancefloor – as is traditional – and it's clear that Darla has been giving her new wife secret lessons, because Naomi is _much_ better at this than she was back at Lauren's wedding.

It's impressive. And adorable. And Kevin tells her as much when she sinks into a chair on the edge of the dancefloor, grinning from ear to ear, whilst Darla goes to get them more drinks.

"Oh, you," Naomi replies, batting at him. "You always know what to say."

"It's my job!" Kevin reminds her.

"So I've noticed. Speaking of which, you planning on stabbing anyone at some point during the evening?"

"I do wish everyone would stop asking me that!" Kevin replies, though he's secretly thrilled by the fact that a number of the other guests have also brought it up. "I only stab people when it's _necessary_. And your mother already called me off when it came to your aunt."

Naomi rolls her eyes. "Mabel? She's _such_ a spoilsport."

"Tell me about it. But enough about her. Are you enjoying your big day?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I really am. Even Lauren is being nice to me."

"You see? It's because of how totally awesome you are. And how totally awesome you look in that dress."

"Doesn't she just?" Darla enthuses, as she returns with more champagne for them all – Kevin too, given that she's considerate like that.

Darla and Naomi clink glasses and both take a sip, and then Darla sits back with her head on Naomi's shoulder.

"I should give the two of you a moment," Kevin says, tactfully, but before he can get very far, Darla reaches over and grabs his arm.

"Don't you dare go anywhere," she insists. "I need five minutes to sit and drink my champagne, and then all three of us are going back on that dancefloor."

Kevin grins. "And here I was thinking I might get away with it this time."

"On my wedding day?" Darla replies, with a wicked grin. "Not a chance."


	13. Kerano

**Kerano**

_Black_

***

The years start to pass, at whatever rate they do when the existence of time is questionable at best. Five more years, in fact, bringing with them their great collections of days.

Life ticks on, as it ever does, punctuated by minor blips in normalcy but no more than that. Over the course of it all, Kevin manages to have three more big vacations – a return to Svitz, a delightful visit to Franchia, and also a fortnight in some strange place called Torr-Onto – but, beyond this, things are quiet, and productive, and efficient.

As they should be.

His lovelife could use some work, though. He has a string of short-lived relationships, all of which start promisingly and none of which last. In most cases, it's Kevin himself who breaks them off, though sometimes he isn't even sure why he's doing it. Just… that things aren't working.

Things never quite seem to work. It's like he's waiting for someone. For _the_ someone.

He wishes they'd hurry up.

As for his strange little arrangement with Mr Hartley… that continues. And it's odd. They don't hook up often, but when they do, Kevin feels better than he ever does. Feels _different_. When he's with other men, he's still very much the leader, but with Mr Hartley… he's always the follower.

Not that it could ever be any other way.

And Hartley, for his part, seems completely unperturbed by the fact that Kevin regularly falls in and out of relationships. On the contrary, even though Kevin rarely talks about it, it's like the other man _knows_. He never once makes a move on Kevin when Kevin is with someone else, but – at the same time – he's often quick to make a move after a breakup.

Maybe this is a coincidence. Maybe it explains a lot.

Strexcorp grows, in strength and influence, and Kevin starts to wonder how much longer the company can confine itself to a single town. Even _this_ single town.

Only time – such as it is – will tell.

***

It's one evening in the spring, and – as he so often does – Kevin is making his way up to the Hartley estate. Mr and Mrs Hartley still hold regular dinner parties with their daughters and their daughters' partners, and more often than not they invite Kevin as well.

It may be so very normal now, but he really likes it. With both Lauren and Naomi in settled relationships, the evenings are usually calm and relaxed and – dare he say it? – low on drama.

Which is why, when he gets to the manor this particular evening, he knows something is wrong the second Naomi opens the door.

"Hey, you," she says, looking pleased to see him nonetheless. "You'd better come in. Unless you'd rather run for the hills."

"Is everything OK?" Kevin asks, softly, as he steps inside.

" _Adam, you are being completely unreasonable!_ " comes a shout from the direction of the main living room. It's Lauren, of course, and she sounds positively livid.

Naomi shudders and takes Kevin's arm, leading him further away from the source of all the yelling.

"What's happened?" he asks.

"Things are not going well with Lauren and Adam," Naomi explains. "They haven't been right for a few weeks, but they've been keeping it quiet. Only, now…"

" _And how exactly is following HR policy 'unreasonable'?_ " comes another shout; Adam this time. And though he's obviously trying to be firm, he is also obviously on the defensive.

But, then again, what chance does he stand against Lauren when she's on a roll?

Before he can ask anything else, the door to the dining room opens and Derek Hartley steps out.

"Ah, Kevin, you made it. Excellent," he says, putting a hand on Kevin's shoulder. "Do please come through. If you'll excuse me, I need to go talk to my firstborn and my son-in-law and – I'll be frank – I don't expect it to be an enjoyable experience."

And, without waiting for an answer, he grips Kevin's shoulder and then stalks off in the direction of the living room.

"I don't envy _either_ of them, given the look Dad's got," Naomi murmurs to Kevin, once her father is out of earshot. "Let's go take refuge in the dining room with Mom and Darla."

So they do. But they don't have to be in range of the living room to know that something is very, very wrong.

***

It's the middle of the following week, and Kevin has gone over to the HQ building – after his daily broadcast – to give a report on a small group of dissidents he paid a visit to, first thing that morning.

He's standing in Mr Hartley's office, midway through his rendition of the morning's events, when the door bursts open and Lauren comes storming in, half-drenched in blood and looking utterly murderous.

"Dad, we have _got_ to talk," she says. " _Right now_."

Andrew – Mr Hartley's PA – comes racing in after her, looking deeply apologetic. "My apologies, sir," he says, hastily. "I asked Mrs Mallard to wait, but–"

"Mrs _Hartley-_ Mallard," Lauren corrects, sharply, without even glancing at Andrew. "And, the rate this is going, I'll only be keeping his name as a _souvenir_!"

"Lauren, can't you see I'm busy?" Hartley says, in his diplomatic-but-dangerous voice that Kevin finds very distracting. _Especially_ when he's single.

"Whatever you're doing, it can wait," Lauren retorts, thoroughly unfazed. "We need to talk. We need to talk or, Smiling God help me, it won't just be an unfortunate enforcer whose blood I'm covered in."

Hartley gives a soft sigh. "Very well. Kevin, would you mind giving my daughter and me a moment?"

Kevin nods. "Of course, sir. I'll be right outside."

And he withdraws from the room, followed rather rapidly by Andrew, who shuts the door with a snap when they're both out.

"I _dread_ to think what's going on there," the PA mutters, sitting back down at his desk.

"It isn't good, whatever it is," Kevin concurs, pacing a little because he'd just been getting to the best part of his report and it really wasn't a suitable place to stop.

"No, it isn't good," Andrew agrees. "And it's getting worse. Mrs _Hartley-_ Mallard has stormed in here on a couple of other occasions in the last few weeks. Though this is the first time there's been quite so much blood."

"It takes a lot to get that kind of reaction out of Lauren, too," Kevin adds. "She's never been one for the physical side of things. Whoever it was must have _really_ upset her. Or – more likely – been in precisely the wrong place when she was already upset."

He paces a little more. Andrew, meanwhile, sits back at his desk, idly clicking away on his mouse in the manner of someone trying to look nonchalant and busy, but really being neither of these things. The silence endures for a few moments, at which point there's a burst of yelling coming from the main office, and Kevin has to remind himself why he shouldn't race back in to assist.

" _That_ is not a good sign," Andrew remarks, glancing over at the door.

"No, it really isn't," Kevin concurs. "I should try to find out what's going on. Maybe… I ought to text Adam…"

He and Adam have never been close, but at the same time they've also never been anything less than perfectly civil, and Kevin can't help wondering if Adam thinks they're closer than they actually are. If nothing else, ever since that incident way back at Lauren and Adam's wedding, Kevin has seen a lot more of the man, and of his odd little 'posse' in particular.

They're a talented group, no doubt about it. Skilled combatants, and _fiercely_ loyal to Strexcorp. Adam has even loaned them to him on a couple of occasions, to help out with major incidents.

Maybe one of _them_ will know what's going on.

"…Or one of his associates," Kevin adds, out loud.

"Oh, that little gang of his?" Andrew queries.

Kevin gives the PA a wry smile. "He calls them his _posse_. I'm not sure what kind of movie the man thinks his life is, but it isn't. Nevertheless… those guys _are_ good in a difficult situation. I'll text Khalid. If any of them knows what's going on, he does."

As he taps out the text message, there's another burst of yelling from inside Hartley's office.

"…You think maybe we should intervene?" Andrew says.

Kevin hits send on the message, slips his phone back into his pocket, and gives Andrew an extremely flat look. "You mean, maybe _I_ should intervene?"

"…Yes?" Andrew answers, making it sound like a question even though it isn't. "I doubt Mr Hartley would overreact to _you_ bursting through the door. He is _very_ fond of you."

"There are still lines you don't cross," Kevin reminds him. "Also… what exactly is that supposed to mean?"

This gets him an odd look. Maybe Andrew realises he's misspoken. Maybe it was deliberate.

"It means he likes you," Andrew replies, carefully. "And you can get away with things no one else could. Except for his wife and daughters of course… although…"

There are very deliberate undertones to Andrew's voice now. Kevin moves closer to him, which causes a flicker of concern in the other man's eyes.

"Andrew, just what are you implying?" Kevin asks, tone soft and ever-so-slightly dangerous.

But before Andrew can answer, the doors to the main office spring open and Lauren comes storming out. She glowers at them as she passes but doesn't stop to speak, walking straight into the elevator and departing without a word.

Derek Hartley steps up to the still-open office door, a very resigned look in his eyes. "Kevin, you can come back in now. My apologies for the interruption."

There's a distinct don't-ask-questions edge to his tone, though, and Kevin opts to take the unspoken advice. He gives Andrew one last glance and then follows Hartley back into the office, returning his focus to the matter in hand.

Although… he knows that, whatever Andrew had been about to say to him, this isn't the last he'll hear of it.

***

Kevin is in the middle of a broadcast when the red flash comes up on his phone.

He stares at it in shock, trying not to give away anything in his voice, as he finishes up his report on the recent Vultures game and then cues the weather. But the second he's no longer live, he pulls off his headset and picks up his phone at once.

He _never_ gets interrupted in the middle of broadcasts. Even Mr Hartley himself always waits until the end, no matter what's going on. So to receive something like this is proof that matters are serious, even long before Kevin knows what's actually happened.

When he calls in, it's Andrew who answers.

"Andrew, what's going on?" Kevin asks at once.

"Mr Hartley needs you over at the Covey Building," Andrew replies. "Urgently. He would have called you himself, but the enforcers have put up anti-communications fields all over the incident site, and…"

" _'Incident site'_?" Kevin repeats. "Andrew, tell me what's happened. _Now_."

"I don't know the details," Andrew admits. "He sent me out to call you before he'd had a full report. But… but…"

The man's voice is wavering. Whatever's happened, it's serious.

" _Andrew_ ," Kevin pushes, firm but not hostile. "What's happened?"

"It's Adam Mallard," Andrew replies.

"What about him?"

"He's dead."

Kevin curses out loud, though manages to switch into Linear-B before he does. Andrew clearly gets the gist of it though, if not the full meaning. "Tell me about it," the PA answers, wryly. "You'd better head over here."

"Give me two minutes to wrap up this broadcast, and then I'll get straight on the road."

"Drive fast."

"I will."

"…But safely, of course."

"Of course."

And they hang up.

That's when the emotion hits. Yes, Kevin has never been very fond of Adam, but that doesn't mean he's ever wanted the man _dead_. Plus, more seriously, if something's happened to him, it could be part of a much larger situation. It could be dissidents. It could be a hostile takeover attempt.

…Or it could be Lauren.

The weather ends, and Kevin goes live.

_"Welcome back, listeners. You will have to forgive me for ending today's show abruptly, but during the weather I received news of an ongoing situation that requires my immediate attention. But that's life in a nutshell, isn't it? A constant string of surprises that make us all question the nature of being. And… not being."_

_"Stay tuned next for my dear producer Daniel reading this week's Home Run Short Story: The Fibonacci Sequence in Numerical Order. And, as always, until next time, Desert Bluffs. Until next time…"_

The broadcast ends, and the on-air lights go dark. The second they do, Kevin swipes up his phone and takes off running.

And, as he does, he can't help remembering the text message that Khalid sent him a week ago, in response to Kevin's question about what was happening between Adam and Lauren.

_'I don't know for sure, but it isn't good. It isn't good at all. One way or another, it will all end in blood.'_

***

The Covey Building – one of the main HR office blocks – is on the edge of the city core. By the time Kevin gets there, the enforcers have a massive cordon erected around the entire site, with roadblocks at regular intervals.

They all wave him straight through, though. No one questions his presence these days.

He drives as close as he can get, then parks the car and walks the rest of the way on foot. The enforcers at the last checkpoint wave him through, and finally he's standing in the wide plaza at the front of the building, next to the large fountain with the spinning Strexcorp emblem at its centre.

Before he can even flag down an enforcer to ask for an update, Andrew himself comes running over. The man is surprisingly pale, and looks more than a little relieved to see Kevin.

"There you are," he says. "You'd better come inside. Mr Hartley is with the primary response team, but he'll want to talk to you."

"Of course," Kevin answers. "But… Andrew, please, tell me what's happened."

Andrew shakes his head. "You won't believe me. You need to see."

"Is it dissidents? Are we under attack?"

This gets him an odd look. "Not as far as we can tell," Andrew replies. "But no one is saying anything for definite just yet. It… just come with me."

Kevin nods and follows, asking no more, even though his mind is dizzy with questions. They enter the office building via the front door and walk through the enforcer-filled lobby to where Mr Hartley himself is standing, deep in conversation with a pair of enforcer captains. He waves them off as Kevin draws closer, expression deathly serious.

"Kevin," he says. "Good. I'm glad you're here. Andrew, please go and get me an update from the protection details. I want to know a location for _every_ member of the five families, and precisely who is with each of them. If this _is_ an attack, we are _not_ losing anyone else. Clear?"

"Perfectly, sir," Andrew says, and hurries off at once.

"What's happened?" Kevin now asks, desperate to know. "Andrew… Andrew said something about Adam. He said…"

"…Adam is dead," Hartley interjects. "It happened less than two hours ago, right here in this building."

He sounds oddly affected. Kevin knows that Hartley has never exactly been _fond_ of Adam but, at the same time, he would never have allowed the man to marry his daughter if there wasn't at least _some_ element of respect between them.

"How many others?" Kevin asks.

"None," Hartley answers, which is something of a surprise. "Adam was the only casualty. He was alone when it happened."

"I see. Are we under attack?"

This gets him a strange and careful look. "As far as I can tell, no," Hartley answers. "But I still have everyone operating under the assumption that we are, just to be on the safe side. The last thing I want is to lose someone else as a result of complacency."

Kevin nods. "Of course. And… Lauren..?"

"…Is on her way here," Hartley says. "How she will react… I couldn't tell you."

Neither of them voices the obvious, unspoken question and the likelihood is that neither of them ever will. But Kevin knows they're both thinking it.

"What exactly happened?" he asks, instead.

"There was an accident," Hartley replies, carefully. "Adam was alone in one of the large boardrooms, preparing for a meeting scheduled for tomorrow morning, when…" He trails off, and that alone is extremely telling. "…Something went wrong."

"With what?" Kevin says, trying to push without actually sounding pushy.

Hartley sighs. "With the ceiling fans. They… he…" He sighs again, and Kevin is struck by the possibility that the other man is equal parts alarmed and _impressed_. "…This would be easier if you saw. Although, I warn you, it is… graphic."

If Derek Hartley thinks it's graphic, it must be bad.

And, it soon turns out, he's not wrong.

***

The funeral of Adam Mallard ends up being a huge public affair, with Strexcorp affording him every honour and privilege.

But it's a strange day. The full details of Adam's death are never released – though rumours do circulate – and no culprit is ever identified.

And then there's Lauren. On the surface, she's every bit the grieving widow… but only to the casual observer. If you know her – the way Kevin does – it's far more complicated than that. There's grief, yes, and some of it is real… but, at the same time, Kevin never once sees her cry. He never once sees her look as though she's _been_ crying.

He knows. He knows, like they all know, but can never say.

One thing is for sure. Kevin won't underestimate Lauren Hartley-Mallard ever again.

***

Spring gives way to summer: a long, hot summer. Life returns to normal, racing onwards, filled – as ever – with productivity and efficiency.

Just what Strexcorp wants.

Summer finally gives way to fall, and fall to winter, as much as there is ever such a thing as winter in the desert.

And then Susan Hartley gets sick.

Kevin finds out about it one evening, when Naomi turns up at his door, completely unannounced, looking like she's spent the whole afternoon crying. And Naomi never cries. Sitting on his couch, hardly touching the cup of coffee he's made her, she tells him the whole story about her mother. The whole diagnosis.

"Isn't there anything we can do?" Kevin asks, softly, when Naomi falls silent, hands clasped tight in her lap. "Anything the coven can do or… or your father..?"

Naomi shakes her head. "There are some things even we can't fix," she whispers.

"How… how long?"

"Days at most," Naomi manages. "Perhaps a week. I… Kevin, what am I going to do without her?"

Her expression cracks, and she wraps her arms around him, breaking down again.

"The only thing you can do," he tells her, softly. "You go on. You live a life that would make her proud. That's… that's what I told myself when my mother…"

He trails off, and Naomi jumps back a little, looking at him in alarm. "I'm sorry," she says. "You never…"

"Don't you dare apologise," Kevin insists, gripping Naomi's hands tight. "I lost her a long time ago. Years before you and I even met. But… the advice still stands."

"Thanks," Naomi says, still obviously on the point of tears.

"I'm here for you," Kevin reminds her. "Whatever you need, whenever you need it. And I always will be."

They hug again, for longer this time. When they pull back, Naomi says, "…She wants to see you. My mother, I mean. Tomorrow, if you're willing."

"She wants to see me?"

"Yes. You don't have to look surprised, you know you're like family. You can… you can come with me to the hospital, in the morning."

Kevin nods. "Of course," he says.

And he's more than willing to go. He's always been fond of Mrs Hartley. But what, precisely, does she want to say to him?

***

One of the most terrible and universal truths of life is that, no matter how modern or well-funded, hospitals are awful places to be. Desert Bluffs Memorial Hospital is every bit at the forefront of medical progress, and wants for nothing thanks to its majority shareholder – Strexcorp – but it can't change the inevitable fact:

With the welcome exception of the neonatal wing, people don't come here for good reasons.

Kevin has not come here for a good reason. It is – mercifully – a very long time since he last had cause to darken these doors, but today he can't avoid it. _Won't_ avoid it.

Naomi and Darla both come with him. Darla is composed, but very subdued nonetheless, and Naomi looks as pale as she did the previous night, despite her obvious attempts to put a brave face on it all. And it's scary to see someone usually so strong and implacable looking so completely crushed.

When they make it to Susan Hartley's room, they find that she isn't alone. Her husband is with her, and the look in _his_ eyes is like nothing Kevin's ever seen before. He's sitting at his wife's side, holding her hand, though he rises to his feet as they walk in.

Susan, meanwhile, smiles over at them. She does not look well at all, but she gestures them closer. "I'm glad you're all here," she says. "If I have to listen to Derek telling me any more about the quarterly profit margins, I might take matters into my own hands."

She winks at her husband, and he rolls his eyes in the way only someone in a long and adoring relationship can. "You like it really," he insists.

"You keep telling yourself that, honey," she replies. "Now… if all of you don't mind, I'd like to talk to Kevin for a moment. In private. After that, you're welcome to come and take turns feeding me grapes. So long as you promise to smile whilst you do it."

"But, Mom, you're…" Naomi starts out, looking on the verge of tears again.

"I'm dying, sweetie, I know," her mother interrupts. "It's an inevitable fact of life. _The_ inevitable fact of life. Now… can I have a moment with Kevin?"

Taking the hint, the others withdraw from the room and close the door, leaving Kevin and Susan alone. Still a little confused about what Mrs Hartley wants to say to him, Kevin moves over and takes the seat at her side.

"You're wondering why I asked for you," Susan starts out.

"Yes," Kevin replies. "I mean, I'm happy to come – I would have wanted to come anyway – but I didn't expect you to ask for me specifically."

Susan smiles. "Whyever not? You are my husband's lover after all."

There is simply no way to respond to this, and Kevin knows he doesn't stand a chance. Susan leaves him hanging for a moment, and then reaches to pat his hand.

"Relax," she insists. "You know I know about it. Derek made that quite clear from the start, didn't he?"

"…Yes."

"Well, then, don't look so worried. It's not as if I didn't have more than a few lovers myself. Although I think perhaps you've realised by now that you're a special case."

Kevin tries to will himself not to go bright pink. It is not an easy process.

"Mrs Hartley, you know I would never have–"

She pats his hand again. "Kevin, it's OK. Really. If I had been anything other than delighted, I would have taken steps. Besides, did Derek not tell you that I was the one pushing him to make a move in the first place?"

"…Yes," Kevin manages, not at all sure how he's ended up having this conversation. "Yes, he did. Which is the only reason I–"

"I don't think it's the _only_ reason," Susan interjects, with another smile. "But I am gratified to hear that it was part of your thought process."

"It was," Kevin re-affirms. "A large part. I… Mrs Hartley, why are you talking about this now?"

"Because I'm dying," she says, the sparkle in her eyes undimmed, but her voice so much sadder. "I have days at most. And that's OK, really, it is. I've had a good run. A _very_ good run. All that's left is to make sure the people I care about will be all right when I'm gone. I know Lauren will be, and I know you'll look out for Naomi – and Darla – no matter what. That just leaves Derek. He'll be upset when I'm gone. He'll hide it, of course, because he thinks too much public emotion makes him look weak, but deep down it will hurt him more than he knows how to say. And he'll withdraw – not from his work, he'll _bury_ himself in his work – but from everything else. I just want to make sure you'll give him time and that, when he emerges from his grief, you'll be there for him again."

Kevin stares. He knows he shouldn't, but he can't help it. "Did you..? Forgive me, Mrs Hartley, but did you just… leave me your husband?"

Susan laughs. "I suppose I did. And I wouldn't presume to tell you what to feel, or how to feel it, but… I know you do."

"Then… I will try to live up to your faith in me," Kevin promises her.

"I'm glad," Susan replies, gripping his hand. "I'm glad. Because…" Her eyes go distant. "…I have seen things. Things far away, in both time and space. But those things are racing towards us, towards you, from out of the great unseen. And the moment will come… not here, but near… when all will be undone, and remade. North, east, south, west. The unravelling of all things…"

Those words make Kevin's chest go tight, in a way he can't explain, and can't deny.

"…Well," Susan says, expression back to normal. "Well. You remember what I said. And you take care of that husband of mine."

"I will," Kevin replies. "I promise."

***

It's three more days before Susan Hartley dies. It happens in the middle of the night, though with enough forewarning that everyone is at her side: her family, the rest of the Management Board, and several members of the Coven of the Sun.

It is as these things so often are: quiet, and dignified, and filled with wordless grief.

Rather more unusual is the next day. The sun does not rise. The horizon does not lighten. In all his life, Kevin has never seen a day without sunlight. He's seen the sunlight last _for_ days; seen night after night passing in ceaseless radiance, but never the other way around.

Never total darkness.

The sun does, however, reappear two days later, on the morning of Susan's funeral. It's a huge and grand affair; the largest Desert Bluffs has ever seen, as the people bid farewell not just to the matriarch of a family, but to the matriarch of a coven, a company, a city.

Their company. Their city.

Things are changing. Kevin knows it, as he stands close to the remaining Hartley family, to where Derek Hartley is, one daughter on either side, and all three of them looking like the world has ended.

Maybe it has. Maybe it hasn't. But Kevin is sure of one thing: an end _is_ coming. An end, and a beginning. And when it comes, when it arrives – whenever, however, that may be – he knows nothing left in its wake will be the same.

***

Things are indeed different after that. Derek Hartley steps back from his on-off relationship with Kevin – just as Susan had forewarned – though, on a professional level, things between them remain close. Lauren starts to become more and more involved in the running of the company – this, too, is no surprise – and Naomi does as well, though not to the same extent.

Winter passes once more into spring, and – on one of those spur-of-the-moment urges that seem to seize him every few years – Kevin has another of his big vacations. He goes back to Franchia this time, convinced that the place is haunted by a rare type of demon, and desperate to find it.

He has no such luck, though his love for the country remains undiminished. After all, it's a wonderful place.

When he gets back to work after the whole delightful business, and is done getting his usual disapproving glares from Daniel, he steps into his broadcast booth to find a young woman waiting for him.

"Oh!" he says in surprise. "Hello. Daniel mentioned something about a new intern."

"That's me," the young woman replies. She has such a bright, happy smile. "Strexcorp recruited me for your team whilst you were… away." She holds out a hand. "I'm Vanessa."

Kevin takes her hand and shakes it. "It's a delight to meet you, Vanessa. I'm Kevin."

"I know," she tells him. "I'm a huge fan. I've been listening to your show for _forever_ and I can't believe I finally get to help out with it!"

"I like your enthusiasm!" Kevin replies. "We believe in enthusiasm here at Radio Desert Bluffs. Enthusiasm, productivity, and hard work. Strexcorp demands nothing less, after all! Now, I'm sure you're raring to go, but there's one thing I should say first. Interning is an important and rewarding step on your career ladder, but it's also dangerous. So you take care, Vanessa. You take care and you let me know if you spot anything untoward."

"I will," she promises. "I'm so excited to be able to learn from you. I know…" and here she drops her voice, to something a little more subtle, "…I know you can do _all_ kinds of things."

"Do you now? Well, you just pay close attention and you might find yourself learning a few little tricks that the other interns don't know."

"I will!" Vanessa says again, back to her initial bouncy self. "I'm so excited! I've heard that life in radio is just to _die_ for!"

***

And in this, at least, the poor young woman is quite correct. She survives a full three weeks before the incident with the plant pot and the coffee grinder. And though Kevin does his best to prevent it, the fact remains: interning is a dangerous line of work. Far more dangerous than being an enforcer. Or being the not-so-secret fixer to the head of the company.

Nevertheless, Kevin really is sad to see Vanessa go. She was _such_ a good intern.

…Which means he's _really_ surprised to see the woman _come back_ the very next day. It makes no sense. No sense at all. Everyone else reacts as though it's perfectly normal; as though they _didn't_ see precisely what happened to their poor young intern just one day previously.

But they did. They all did. And not one of them even blinks when Vanessa breezes into the office the next day, bright as ever, remembering everything up until the point where she'd offered to go make coffee for them.

Kevin tries to think nothing of it. Tries to imagine that maybe he dreamt the whole horrible affair. For a while, he even believes his own lie… at least until the incident with the sentient patch of haze. The very _angry_ sentient patch of haze. And even in Desert Bluffs, it's hard to imagine that one single human body could _contain_ so much blood.

Harder still is not falling over backwards when Vanessa comes strolling into work again the very next day.

Just what, in the name of Azatothoth, is going on?

Kevin doesn't know. And he very much suspects he also doesn't want to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Yeah. Um. Sorry. I did warn you about the mood whiplash!
> 
> And now, if you will all excuse me, I need to go work on the next chapter post-haste. I have been waiting for this for _months_. And yes, that means what you think it means... ;-)
> 
> Coming Up Next: A new man comes to town. A man from somewhere else. A beautiful, perfect man...


	14. Aroa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I have two chapters for you today, and - for those of you who've been following this from the start - I suspect this one, certainly, is what you've been waiting for! ;-)
> 
> For those who have read the main Chiralityverse series, some of what follows will be familiar. I have done my best to avoid repeating too much, but at the same time there are certain scenes that need to be included, so this time you get to see them from Kevin's point of view. I hope you enjoy!

**Aroa**

_Perfect_

***

Another year rolls past: another busy and productive year. And then, one Wednesday morning in mid-spring, Kevin finds himself called to Mr Hartley's office. Such a summons is still commonplace, and Kevin thinks little of it as he heads over to Strexcorp HQ, giving Andrew a nod as he paces through the imposing double doors into their boss' office.

Hartley is working at his desk, though he stops as Kevin walks in, rising to his feet. "Good," he says, "you're here. Shut the door."

Kevin does as he's told, then moves closer. He knows, from the look in the other man's eyes, that Hartley has a job for him. A mission. Most likely a target.

And he's glad. It's been weeks since he was last sent to deal with someone, and the intervening time has been decidedly flat and uneventful. And yes, sometimes it's good to knuckle down and get the day-to-day work done, but nonetheless…

"Tell me, Kevin," Hartley starts out, toying with a file dossier lying on his desk. "How much do you know about science?"

The question is not what Kevin expected. "I'm no expert," he replies. "But I read. I like to think of myself as at least vaguely informed. And I _always_ like to learn."

Hartley smiles. "Indeed. Well. In that case, I think you should be able to work with this." He slides the file dossier over to Kevin, tapping it once before letting go and leaving Kevin free to pick it up. "There's a symposium taking place tomorrow at the main conference centre. The annual Strexcorp Scientific Symposium. I would like you to attend, for two reasons. The first is so that you can include a report on it during your radio show on Friday. We don't promote scientific advancement nearly enough in Desert Bluffs and that is something I would like to change."

"I'm more than happy to help with that," Kevin replies. "And… the second reason?"

He tries not to sound too hopeful, but Hartley clearly picks up on it because he smiles, and gestures to the dossier. "The second reason," he says, "is because there's a scientist there who I need you to remove from the equation."

There's a sparkle in his eyes at that, though he refrains from outright laughing at his own joke. Kevin, meanwhile, smiles rather more, opening the dossier.

"His name is Hans Piotrson," Hartley explains. "He's part of an experimental science team that has been doing some _very_ classified research for me over the last couple of years. Recently, however, Mr Piotrson has begun exhibiting some less than helpful behaviour. My sources are unclear as to whether he has gone fully dissident, or is simply unhappy with the direction I want his research to take. Either way… I need him dealt with. Permanently. The work his team is doing is too important – _far_ too important – to jeopardise."

"I see," Kevin replies. "You want it done quietly?"

Hartley nods. "I want it done quietly. Allow Piotrson to give his talk at the symposium. Unless he does anything so stupid as to outright announce his dissidence in front of everyone, don't interfere. Take him out once the other attendees' attention is elsewhere."

"Understood," Kevin says.

"And then give us all a good segment on it – minus Piotrson, of course – as part of Friday's show. For science, Kevin. _For science_."

Well. If nothing else, it's going to be an interesting day.

***

The Strexcorp conference centre is a grand building near the centre of town. By the time Kevin arrives on the Thursday morning, the place is already a sea of white-coated scientists, milling about and drinking coffee as they prepare for the day ahead.

They're certainly not Kevin's usual crowd, which makes watching them all the more interesting. It's a while before he spots Hans Piotrson, talking to a pair of other scientists near the door to the main lecture hall. Once he's seen the man, it's hard to look anywhere else, even though Kevin knows he can't make a move on his target until much later.

The morning is like nothing Kevin's ever done before. There are three talks – of which Piotrson's is the last – and Kevin is relatively confident that he understands about ten percent of them. At most. Though somehow he still enjoys them all a lot more than he expected.

They stop for lunch, after which there are two more talks scheduled before the mid-afternoon coffee break. There are a lot of coffee breaks. Coffee, it turns out, is serious business for scientists.

The first of the two pre-coffee talks is easily the least interesting thus far, and Kevin finds his mind wandering more than a little. If nothing else, the upcoming break is his best opportunity to get a nice moment alone with the soon-to-be-late Hans Piotrson, and he's quietly preparing for the event.

That's when it happens. The first talk ends, and the symposium leader announces the second speaker.

And a man walks up onto the stage. He walks up onto the stage, and it's as though the whole world has just stopped, because Kevin has never seen anyone so mind-blowingly beautiful. So undeniably _perfect_.

Kevin tries not to stare. He's in the front row and staring would be obvious. But it is not easy. It is not easy because he is looking at the most incredible man he's ever seen in his life.

"Good afternoon, everyone," the perfect scientist starts out, taking his place at the podium. "My name is Carlos, and I'm the newest member of the experimental science team here in Desert Bluffs. I just moved to the town, in fact, so I'm still learning my way around. It's… certainly unlike anywhere I've ever lived before."

"But, hey, enough about me. This afternoon I want to talk to you about something of great importance in the modern scientific community: the practical applications of micro-singularities."

Precisely what this means, Kevin has no idea. But, by Azatothoth, he is going to have an _amazing_ time finding out.

***

They break for coffee once Carlos has concluded his talk. And as everyone wanders out into the main lobby, Kevin hesitates in the doorway.

He needs to go find Hans Piotrson. He really, really does. This is the best time to make his move. But…

…But. He can't stop thinking about the beautiful scientist he's spent the last hour listening to. And yes, he knows they've never spoken, but he can't deny being completely captivated by the man.

And, OK, it's true, the really hot ones are nearly always straight. Or spoken for. Or both.

But he'll regret it for _ever_ if he doesn't at least say hello.

It only takes a moment to re-locate the scientist in question; now seated alone at one of the little tables, coffee in front of him, looking through something on his phone.

Kevin takes a deep breath and walks over.

"Hi there," he starts out, with a smile, hoping he doesn't seem nervous. "You're Carlos, right? I was listening to the talk you gave."

"That's right," Carlos answers, a cautious edge to his own tone. But that's understandable. Especially given that he's new to town.

"I'm Kevin. Do you have a moment..?"

He tries to look hopeful without looking crazy. Some days this is harder than others. But he evidently pulls it off today, because Carlos gestures to the seat opposite him, and Kevin settles in it at once, clasping his hands on the tabletop.

If nothing else, this stops him toying with the hilt of his thankfully-concealed knife whilst he talks. Awareness of his _actual_ mission here keeps intruding, and he knows he can't linger long.

"So… is there something you wanted to ask?" Carlos asks him. "Are you a scientist too?"

"Oh no, no, I'm a journalist," Kevin replies. Because he is… first and foremost, at least. And this is hardly the time to mention the other thing.

…And off on the far side of the room, he can see Hans Piotrson stepping into one of the side-halls. Hopefully he'll linger there. If nothing else, this table is an excellent vantage point to watch the door.

"A radio broadcaster, actually," Kevin goes on, without missing a beat. "I present the flagship show on our local station."

And that's when the idea hits. The idea that means he can keep this conversation brief, _and_ follow it up with another. _And_ do the segment on his show that Mr Hartley wanted. Three wins, all in one.

"And I was wondering… would you be interested in doing an interview? You were _so_ good when you were talking before and I bet people would love to hear more. And… you know, you're new in town, and we don't get many new faces in Desert Bluffs."

This seems to take Carlos by surprise. "You're… saying I'm newsworthy?"

"Sure you are!" Kevin tells him, brightly. And then some. Right now, Kevin wants to stop all the presses and replace them with the same headline: _Beautiful scientist comes to town. Local radio host falls in love instantly._

"All right, then," Carlos agrees. "Why not?"

"Wonderful!" Kevin exclaims, very much meaning every syllable. "Oh, I can't _wait_ to tell my producer. Is tomorrow good?"

Please let tomorrow be good.

"Uh… sure, tomorrow's good," Carlos agrees.

This is basically the best day ever. Except that tomorrow might be better.

"Perfect! Just come on down to the station in the early afternoon, and I'll talk you through it. You'll be great!"

This makes Carlos smile, and _oh_ but his smile could light up the heavens themselves. And, seriously, Kevin doesn't know what's wrong with him. All he knows is that tomorrow cannot come fast enough. And he hopes it lasts forever. And…

…OK, now his mind is wandering and Carlos probably thinks he's crazy or something.

He really has been out of the game too long.

"So how are you liking Desert Bluffs so far?" Kevin asks him, trying to act as though the long pause was perfectly normal.

"It's… different," Carlos answers. There's a waver to his voice as he speaks, and Kevin… Kevin can understand why. Desert Bluffs really is a rather unique town.

"New people usually say that," Kevin replies, because they do. Not that there are often new people here. "But you'll soon settle in. And the weather is always _very_ generous. Four hundred and fifty-seven days of sunshine a year!"

The scientist seems somewhat surprised by this. "…Er… there's only three hundred and sixty-five-point-two-five days _in_ a year…"

"Oh, sure, I know that," Kevin answers, calmly. "But we get plenty of extra sunshine nonetheless. It's a Strexcorp policy."

"I… see. You work for them too?"

"Pretty much _everyone_ here does. Strexcorp _is_ Desert Bluffs. But don't worry, they take _really_ good care of the place."

_And I work for the man in charge. And sometimes kill people for him. And maybe this is something I should never, ever say out loud. Especially to you._

"That's… reassuring to know."

Off on the far side of the room, a second scientist follows Piotrson into that side-hall, and Kevin realises he's going to have to make a move now.

" _Well_ ," he says, tone as bright and level and normal as he can make it when he's about to go off and kill someone, "I must be getting on. It was _delightful_ to meet you, and I look forward to seeing you tomorrow!"

"Yes," Carlos replies. "I'll see you then."

Kevin manages to get out of sight before the radiant smile comes to his lips. He can't remember the last time he was this happy. And, for him, that's saying something.

***

In the end, Hans Piotrson is not a difficult man to take down. Nor is his body difficult to hide, not in the winding passageways of the conference centre. Of course someone will find him eventually, but so long as the symposium is over, it won't matter.

Kevin is practically skipping when he gets to work the next day. He's in a little later than he would have preferred – due to needing to stop by the HQ tower and give a report to Mr Hartley – and he disappears quickly into his office to finish the editorial he's been working on.

Within moments, Ted the Weatherman appears in the doorway. "Well, _someone's_ in a good mood today," he remarks.

The smile is impossible to hide, not that Kevin would try. "I know," he replies. "I… OK, look, don't laugh, but you know how I went to that science symposium yesterday?"

"Sure I do," Ted says. "Was it informative? Were they all _super_ -smart?"

"Oh, you bet," Kevin tells him. "Some of the talks went way over my head, and I'm not ashamed to admit it. But the parts I did understand were very interesting. And…"

He trails off. Ted headtilts. "And?" he pushes, clearly guessing there's more to this than Kevin is letting on.

"…And I met someone. A guy. A _scientist_. He was one of the speakers. And he…"

Kevin trails off again. Ted's eyebrows go right up, and suddenly he can barely contain his excitement. "Oh, oh, oh, was he hot?"

Ted is, as far as Kevin has ever been able to tell, still totally straight. But you could be forgiven for thinking otherwise. "Yeah," Kevin manages, trying not to blush. "Yeah, you could say that."

"How hot? Eight? Nine?" A pause. " _Ten?_ "

"… _Eleven_ ," Kevin manages. "If I hadn't been sitting down when he first walked on stage, I might very well have fallen over. Ted… this guy, he… I have never in my life seen anyone so beautiful."

Ted grins, and though there's a wicked edge to it, there's also a deeply understanding one. "Did you speak to him?"

"I did," Kevin says. "I… may have invited him to the station. This afternoon. To be a guest on the show."

This gets him a full-on squeal of delight from Ted. "Thank the Smiling God, Kevin, it's about time you dated again. You're wretched when you're single. And I am running out of suitable friends to set you up with!"

"I am not _wretched_ when I'm single!" Kevin insists, aware that he _is_ blushing now and trying to hide it, because there is more to _that_ whole situation than Ted knows. "I'm just better when I'm not. And it's not like I have a _date_ or anything. It's only an interview."

"Then you _have_ to ask him out at the end!" Ted says. "And if… OK, wait, what's the guy's name?"

" _Carlos_ ," Kevin answers. Even the man's name is beautiful.

"Well, if Carlos is even _remotely_ interested in guys, he'll _have_ to say yes because of how awesome you are."

Kevin bats at Ted. "Stop it, you. Does your wife know how much you flirt with me?"

"Oh, Kevin, Kevin, this isn't flirting. This is just me being super-friendly."

It's flirting. But that's OK.

"I'd… better get this editorial finished," Kevin says. "I got waylaid this morning and I need everything sorted before Carlos gets here."

"Then I will disappear!" Ted tells him. "I'll keep a lookout for your guest. And don't forget to ask him out at the end. I shall be very cross if you don't!"

"Ted, have you ever been cross in your entire life?"

"Nope! So that's how serious it will be!"

***

Kevin _does_ ask Carlos out at the end, and he feels like his heart is going to explode with happiness when the other man says yes.

He's available. And interested. And beautiful. And perfect. And every time Kevin thinks about him, he wants to write the man's name in the stars.

They meet up the next day at Kevin's favourite coffee shop downtown: the one with the mini-muffins that Darla is so fond of. They settle in comfy chairs towards the back – Carlos is still rather alarmed by Desert Bluffs (goodness knows why) so Kevin decides that avoiding the windows might be sensible – with a large mochachino each.

"I'm so glad you came," Kevin tells him, hands curled around his coffee cup.

"I've been looking forward to it," Carlos admits, with a nervous smile. "I mean… I had a lot of fun yesterday, but it's nice to be able to talk without the whole town listening."

Kevin smiles too. "I understand completely. Sometimes I forget that I can still have moments just for me. So… you said yesterday that you only moved to town last week?"

"That's right," Carlos tells him. "I was recruited by Strexcorp for one of their research teams. Odd company. They seem to own everything round here. And you said pretty much everyone works for them?"

"Pretty much everyone does. Strexcorp's interests are varied, to say the least. But they're a good employer. I mean, I've worked for them all my adult life. Well. Since I left college, certainly."

"What did you study?" Carlos asks.

"Ancient Linguistics and Parapsychology."

Carlos' eyes go wide. "Wow," he says, looking a little taken aback. "I didn't expect that."

Kevin takes a sip of his coffee and smiles. "What did you expect?"

"Something media-related, I guess."

"I never planned to go into radio," Kevin tells him. "It just sort of… happened. I love it, though. I always have. And the Ancient Linguistics still comes in handy. You know, for the demon-summoning."

Carlos laughs. "I suppose it would."

Kevin has a sneaking suspicion the other man thinks he's joking. Do they not have demon-summoning where Carlos is from? Maybe they don't.

Maybe that's a conversation to save for later.

"No prizes for guessing what _you_ studied at college," Kevin says, with a little grin.

"Guilty as charged," Carlos replies. "I've always loved science. How could I not? Plus, the certainty of it – compared to other things, at least – is so very soothing. Questions with answers. Equations with proofs. Solutions with precipitates."

That last one is a joke, and Kevin catches it after a second, laughing. Carlos looks subtly delighted to have gotten a response. "Most non-scientists don't find that one amusing," he says. "If they notice it at all."

"Well, I'm not like most non-scientists," Kevin points out, meeting the other man's eyes at just the right moment.

"You really aren't," Carlos agrees. He looks nervous again, but there's more to it now.

They both take a sip from their respective coffee cups.

"You know," Kevin starts off, "if you're hungry, they do _really_ good mini-muffins here. If… if you don't have to rush off."

Carlos smiles. "I have all afternoon," he replies.

***

They end up spending most of said afternoon right there. The mochachinos stretch to three rounds – the second of which is accompanied by an assortment of mini-muffins – and all the way through, they talk.

They talk about everything. Science and radio broadcasting and TV programmes and Desert Bluffs and plenty more besides, including an admittedly sketchy account of what brought Carlos to town in the first place (which seems to boil down to a desire to re-invent himself following years of uncertainty that itself appears to have been caused by some kind of bad breakup).

And it goes well. Better than well. It goes brilliantly. It goes so brilliantly that, when Kevin suggests they meet up again on Monday, once he's off-air, Carlos accepts on the spot.

It's the start of an incredible week. The two of them end up meeting not one more time but three more times, and each goes better than the last. But it's more than this, because they also start texting, all through the day: random thoughts or comments, or things they've seen.

Or just texts for the sake of texts. For the smile that accompanies every reply.

Kevin wants to take this to the next level. Wants _badly_. Coffee-dates are fun – a _great_ deal of fun – but what he wants now is an actual date. A dinner date.

He wants to know if this is what he thinks it is. What he hopes it is.

After spending half the afternoon trying to dare himself to ask – trying and failing – Kevin goes home and paces back and forth in his living room for a good ten minutes. Why is he getting so worked up about this? He's been on plenty of dates with plenty of guys, and usually he can invite them without needing any kind of mental run-up, never mind whatever this near-freakout is.

Eventually, having stared blankly at his cellphone screen for far too long, he stalks into his back garden, to the circle of carved sandstone, and starts summoning Azatothoth the Bloodthirsty. The familiar words roll off his tongue, comforting and soothing in their certainty, and after a moment there's a bright flash of infernal light, before the demon in question appears in the centre of the circle.

Azatothoth looks down at his summoner and then gives a slight tilt of the head. " _Tereta_ ," the demon says.

"Azzie!" Kevin greets him, feeling instantly brighter – and less vulnerable – now his eight-foot ally is here. "How's life on the Fourth?"

Azatothoth rolls his eyes. " _Oh_ , you summoned me to _talk_ again, didn't you?" he says, sounding thoroughly unimpressed.

"What's wrong with talking?" Kevin replies. "I do it for a living!"

"Indeed. So surely you don't need to do it outside of work."

"I do it all the time!"

The demon facepalms. To this day, Kevin is still not sure how he can do that with all the spikes, but he can. "Life on the Fourth is fine," Azatothoth insists, before he drops his hand again. "Also, I was promoted."

He says this as if trying to get it in under the radar, though Kevin can't imagine why. "You were?!" he exclaims. "Oh, congratulations! So what do I call you now?"

Azatothoth sighs. "Merciless Azatothoth the Bloodthirsty, Seventeenth Adjunct to the Fourth Infernal Plane," he intones, as if he's slightly tired of doing so.

"Oooh, 'merciless', I like that! And you're an adjunct now? Wow! Your parents must be so proud!"

There's a pause, and Kevin has the sneaking suspicion that Azatothoth is counting to ten.

"…Yes," the demon manages. "Yes, they are. Well," he adds, as if desperate to change the subject, "what exactly do you want?"

"To talk," Kevin answers. "I told you. Just for a little while."

"Kevin, you do realise that most of the beings I'm soul-bound to only summon me when they want me to smite their enemies?"

"I summon you when I want you to smite my enemies! But sometimes I just want to talk. And if your _other_ summoners don't do the same, then it's their loss."

Another pause. Definitely counting to ten.

"And what would you like to talk about?" Azatothoth asks, as if the words themselves are physically painful.

"Oh, just… this and that…"

More facepalming. "Kevin, whatever you're trying to say, out with it," Azatothoth pushes.

"I… OK, look. There's this guy…"

This gets him a look that actually makes the grass nearby start to wilt. "By the Dread Father, did you summon me to discuss your _lovelife_?"

"…Yes?"

"Gah! Kevin, what is wrong with you?"

"Nothing is wrong with me! I'm charming and adorable and totally loveable!"

There's an almost plaintive edge to his tone as he says this though, no matter how hard he tries to hide it.

Azatothoth sighs, his prickly demeanour lessening just a little. "Fine. Fine. Tell me."

"So… I met someone," Kevin explains. "A man. A scientist. His name is Carlos. And he… he's perfect."

"Kevin, no one is perfect. Not even the Dread Father. Though I wouldn't recommend trying to date _him_."

"Well, OK, as close to perfect as we mere humans can hope to attain," Kevin corrects, even though secretly he still thinks that Carlos transcends any kind of human perfection. "And we've been meeting for coffee nearly every day, and he's… he's… Azzie, when I think about him, I can't string sentences together. I can kill a whole roomful of dissidents without batting an eyelid and I've helped repel two hostile takeover attempts and I survived both of the biggest society weddings that Desert Bluffs has ever seen. Nothing makes me nervous anymore. And yet I have spent all afternoon trying to ask Carlos out to dinner and I still can't do it."

"You're overthinking the whole thing. Look. Either this Carlos wants to go to dinner with you, in which case he'll say yes, or he doesn't, in which case it's better you know now rather than drawing this whole tortured affair out even longer. So just text the man and be done with it. And if you so much as _hint_ to anyone else that I gave you relationship advice – so help me, Kevin – I will find a way to break this soul-bind and exact _bloody_ revenge on you."

"Oooh, you're cute when you're all growly," Kevin tells him, with a wicked grin.

Azatothoth folds his arms and goes silent again, and this time he must be counting to at least twenty.

"Are we all done here?" the demon demands, finally.

"Almost," Kevin says.

He pulls out his phone and stares at it. And stares. And stares.

" _Kevin_ ," Azatothoth rumbles, pointedly.

 _'Have dinner with me?'_ Kevin texts, and sends it to Carlos before he can lose his nerve.

There is a long pause, so long that it seems to go on forever. Kevin keeps trying to think of something to say and then changing his mind, though this is due at least in part to the way Azatothoth is scowling at him.

His phone beeps. Kevin can't quite look at it.

"…Read the text, Kevin," Azatothoth says, very, _very_ flatly.

"…I can't."

" _Read the text, Kevin!_ "

Kevin looks at his phone.

 _'I thought you'd never ask,'_ says Carlos' reply.

"He said yes!" Kevin exclaims, voice about an octave higher than usual. "Azzie, he said yes!"

"Then my work here is done," the demon says, in that pointed tone again. "Unless you have any _more_ world-shattering crises for me to solve?"

"Oh, you," Kevin remarks. "You're a delight. Go on, run along. I'll tell you all about it next time!"

"Kevin, I can't _wait_ ," Azatothoth deadpans, and vanishes in another burst of infernal light.

The second he's gone, Kevin gives a cheer, clapping his hands to his chest and then raising them in a quick salute of gratitude to the sun.

He can't remember ever being so happy.

***

The dinner date goes better than Kevin dared to hope. At the end of it, Carlos lets Kevin walk him home. They don't hurry over this part, either, walking along arm in arm, staying close.

It's wonderful. Beyond wonderful. And Kevin feels like the whole world is just slowing right down, spinning to a gentle halt all around them, allowing these few blissful moments to unfold.

It's more than that, though. Between how well the evening has gone, and the lingering buzz from the bottle of very good wine that they shared, Kevin feels like he could do anything. Like he could send a thousand texts to arrange a thousand dinner dates, all without the slightest hesitation.

Eventually, they pause outside the door to Carlos' apartment.

"Well, this is me," Carlos says, headtilting towards the building in question. "I had a _great_ time tonight."

It's clear in his voice just how much he means it, and merely hearing those words is enough to make Kevin feel like he could take on the world.

Take on the world and win, just so he could hand it all to this incredible man.

"Me too," he answers. "We have to do it again."

"Yes," Carlos agrees. "Sometime _soon_."

There's so much hope in the word. So much hope and so much… need.

Kevin feels it too. He feels it and he's sure of it, and he's sure Carlos is sure of it. And that certainty makes him smile, the happiness – and the mirrored need – all there in his eyes.

All the fear is gone. All the confusion. All the apprehension. And what remains is this. Them.

 _Him_.

And that's when Kevin steps in and kisses Carlos. He keeps it quick, and light, and gentle, not wanting to seem pushy, but even that brief contact fills him with a heady rush of delight, and a craving for more. As soon as the kiss breaks he steps back, though he doesn't blink, doesn't look away.

He's not sure he could if he tried. Carlos, for his part, seems to be staring at him in surprise, as if he too isn't quite sure what to say.

But he doesn't look unhappy. He doesn't object. Not in the slightest.

Instinct overtakes, and Kevin steps back in, kissing Carlos a second time. He does it more firmly now, letting the kiss become drawn-out and… _oh_ , deeper too. Hand on Carlos' waist, he pulls the other man in tighter, and is delighted when Carlos puts a hand on his chest, holding on.

 _Holding on_. Wanting him.

Kevin slides his free hand up, cupping the side of Carlos' face, still not yet breaking the kiss, and this honestly may be the greatest moment of his life.

Eventually, the kiss has to end, but neither man steps back. Or lets go.

"…You know, when I first got here, I wasn't sure if I was going to stay," Carlos admits, from out of nowhere, and the words make Kevin's chest ache. "I mean, the place… well, I'm going to be honest, it freaked me out a little. It still does."

"What changed your mind?" Kevin asks him, softly, hardly daring to breathe.

" _You did_ ," Carlos replies.

All the ache in Kevin's chest turns to joy, and he kisses Carlos again, harder and deeper than before. He wants to laugh. Wants to cheer. Wants to shout in rapture to the starscape overhead. But more than that, he wants to kiss this incredible man for as long as possible. And with every second, Carlos gives in to the kiss more and more, wrapping his arms around Kevin and holding on and _wow_ , that is just _incredible_.

As the kiss breaks, Kevin rests his forehead against Carlos'. "I should let you go," he whispers, knowing that he needs to take this slowly, no matter how much he wants not to stop.

"All right," Carlos replies, with a waver in his voice that suggests he doesn't want to be let go in the slightest. "Call me?"

"I will," Kevin promises, meaning it so very much. "Trust me, I will."

He lets go of the other man, watching as he walks up to his front door and heads inside with one last look back. And when he's gone… when he's gone, painful though the separation is, Kevin smiles from ear to ear.

 _That_ went well.

***

Their second date is even more of a success because – the initial hesitation now overcome – they get to the kissing much faster, and are thereby able to do rather more of it. And their _third_ date…

…well. Their third date was last night. And now, here Kevin is, lying in his bed early the next morning.

And he isn't alone.

The beautiful scientist at his side wakes and stares over at him, eyes still hazy, and heavy with more than a little remembered pleasure.

"Hey, you," Kevin says, with a smile. "Sleep OK?"

"Yeah," Carlos replies. "I did. I… _last night was amazing_."

He says this rather quickly, as if nervous about admitting it. Kevin, for his part, doesn't stop smiling. "It was," he agrees. "Completely amazing. _You_ were completely amazing."

Carlos glances down, blushing a little, and Kevin slips a hand under his chin, gently making him look back up. "I mean it," he says. "And I _very_ much hope you want to do this again."

"I do," Carlos says, even more quickly. "I really do. After all… good science requires repetition. To improve results. The more repetition, the better…"

Carlos using science when he's flirting is pretty much the most adorable thing in the world. Though that repetition idea does sound good. Kevin presses in, rolling Carlos onto his back and slipping into place on top of him and _oh_ but the way the scientist's breath catches at that speaks _volumes_.

"Why wait until next time?" Kevin murmurs, against Carlos' lips. "Maybe we should start the repetition part right now…"

" _Please_ ," Carlos whispers in reply.

"Would you like that?" Kevin says, a wicked sparkle in his eyes, deliberately drawing the moment out.

" _Yes_ ," Carlos insists, voice bordering on fervour.

"Carlos… all you have to do is ask, and I'd give you the whole world."

And Kevin means it. More than he ever has in his life.

 _Ever_.

***

The weeks start to roll by, as a blazing hot summer overtakes.

Life is more wonderful than Kevin can remember. He and Carlos spend as much time together as they can, and more often than not they end up at either his house, or Carlos' apartment, breathless and euphoric and tangled in each other. And no matter how often they do, every night feels as amazing as the first.

Elsewhere in Desert Bluffs, things are quiet, and this is good. The one slight problem in the whole situation is that Kevin does not – cannot – tell Carlos what he does when he's not presenting his radio show. He can't tell Carlos about his _unofficial_ job, nor the fact that he's a close personal friend – and now-former lover – to the head of Strexcorp.

He doesn't even dare introduce Carlos to Naomi, which she calls him on when they meet for coffee of their own one afternoon.

"Were you _ever_ going to tell me?" she says, giving him a little grin over the top of her coffee cup.

"Well, yes, of course," Kevin insists. "I just… I wanted to take it slow. He's… he's the one, Naomi. I know it. I knew it the second I laid eyes on him. He's…"

"…Whoa, you really are head-over-heels this time, aren't you?" Naomi remarks.

"Yeah," Kevin has to admit. "I really am. And I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, but… Carlos is new to town, and he's still not used to it. He's so not used to it, he almost left again right after he got here. And I…"

"…You were afraid of scaring him away?"

Kevin nods.

"I know what you mean," Naomi continues, and Kevin is just glad that she's being so sympathetic. "Desert Bluffs is rather _special_. And…" She headtilts, studying his expression for a moment. "…Your involvement in my family's affairs… in my _father's_ affairs… might be a little alarming to a newcomer. Yes. I understand."

She doesn't know the whole truth, of course, and Kevin has no intention of telling her, now or ever. That he works for her father and is a close personal friend of her father is explanation enough. He doesn't need to mention the part where he's also been an on-off lover to her father for more than half a decade.

"I should have told you, though," Kevin concedes. "You and Darla both. I'm sorry."

"It's all right," Naomi tells him. There's something odd about her expression, but not in a disingenuous way, and he opts not to question it. "Have you told your sister?"

"Kirsten knows I'm dating, but I haven't introduced them yet. I… figured I'd do that first."

Naomi nods. "You should. She's worried about you. We met for coffee last week and she kept asking me if you were all right."

"Kirsten worries too much," Kevin replies, trying to sound offhand.

"Maybe so, but she cares about you. We all do. And, when you're ready, you and your hot scientist should come round for dinner. I promise not to invite Lauren."

"That might be for the best."

***

It's one afternoon in early autumn, and Kevin has just got back from the radio station, his broadcast done for the day. He still has work he needs to finish, though – mostly preparation for upcoming shows – but he's also arranged to meet Carlos, so instead of lingering at the station, he's come back to his own house.

Besides. He has a study at home. What good Strexcorp employee _doesn't_ have a workplace at home?

It's always been his favourite room, too: three of the four walls lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and the fourth wall set with a large window that looks out onto the back garden. His desk is dead-centre – broad and clear, made of heavy, dark wood – and he settles at it, quickly losing himself in his work.

It's soothing. Calm. Certain. Quiet. And it's _always_ good to be productive.

It's some time before he's interrupted by the sound of the front door opening. He told Carlos he'd leave it unlocked, but instinct makes him pause and listen until he hears his boyfriend call out, "Hello?"

"Through here," he replies, softly closing the drawer where his knife is hidden. He avoids wearing it – visibly, at least – when Carlos is around, not sure how the man is going to react when he finds out about all _that_.

There's movement in the hallway, and then Carlos steps into the room.

Kevin smiles over at him. "Hey, you. Good day?"

"Good enough," Carlos replies, and then he smiles too. "Better now, though." He paces closer. "What are you working on?"

"A couple of editorials for the show," Kevin tells him.

"Do you need me to give you some time? I can sit and think about science for a while if you want to keep going."

Kevin pointedly closes his laptop and slips it into the desk drawer that doesn't have his knife in. "I'm all done with this for today," he answers, still smiling.

Carlos looks pleased by this, though there's a nervous little flicker in his eyes as he paces closer. "Well, then. What should we do instead..?"

He steps around the desk. He really is adorable when he's flirting. And all the other times.

And Kevin… well. Kevin may have deliberately let the man find him in here.

He rises to his feet. He's only slightly taller than Carlos is, but the proximity magnifies the effect – no pun intended – and Carlos' breath catches noticeably at the sudden shift in perspective.

"I was thinking of working on something else," Kevin says, low and soft, raising a hand to trace along Carlos' jawline.

"You were?" Carlos manages, obviously caught and obviously loving it.

"I was." Timing is everything. "I am." A deliberate headtilt. "I think I will."

He grabs hold of Carlos, pulling him in and kissing him hard. The other man wraps around him at once, kissing him back, murmuring in obvious approval, and _oh_ but this feels good.

And it gives Kevin the confidence he needs to go through with his idea. Still holding onto Carlos – still kissing him – he turns them both and pushes the very willing scientist up against the edge of the desk.

As the kiss breaks, Carlos stares at him, eyes wide and dark with need.

"I like to pay very careful attention to everything that crosses my desk," Kevin tells him, flirting shamelessly and not remotely sorry about it. "I believe in hard work, Carlos. I believe in being _thorough_."

And he kisses the man again. Carlos curls in against him, giving in to the kiss completely, so Kevin takes his time with it, enjoying every second, not breaking the kiss until he has to. It's only seconds before he moves in for another round, though instead of holding on, now he starts pulling clothes off the other man. And _that_ makes Carlos full-on whimper in approval, moving to help him. And to help get Kevin's shirt off too. Because he's so considerate like that.

As soon as Kevin has the other man topless, he grins, and pushes him onto his back on the desk. And even though it's obvious he's been planning to do as much, Carlos' eyes go wide when it happens, staring up at him all vulnerable and hopeful and _needing_.

It makes Kevin want him even more, and he already wants Carlos so badly that he can hardly think. He presses in between the other man's legs, grinding against him, and Carlos reaches up to pull Kevin down over him, so they can kiss again.

"You like that?" Kevin asks, when the kiss breaks.

"Yes," Carlos answers. " _Yes_. Please don't stop."

"I won't," Kevin promises. "I won't."

More kissing. More. Never enough. It may not be the most comfortable position in the world, but the thrill of having Carlos flat on his back on the desk like this is just too good to miss, and doubly-so because of how receptive the man is to it all. To the idea of being _taken_ like this.

Kevin has seen hints of it in Carlos before. Hints of that need, a need Kevin is not entirely certain the other man has consciously engaged with yet. But it's there. It's there and – given time – Kevin is determined to show him just how good indulging it can be.

He pushes a hand down between them, stroking firmly over the front of Carlos' trousers, and getting a low moan of approval in response.

"Please," Carlos whispers. Begs, almost. "Here. Like this. Kevin, please."

Kevin smiles. He has no intention of denying the man. None at all. But there's something to be said for making him wait. "Patience," he purrs. "I told you: I believe in being thorough. _Very_ thorough."

He also believes in more kissing. Lots more kissing. Carlos certainly seems to approve of it, wrapping around him and kissing him back, and then gasping a soft, " _Oh yes_ ," as Kevin starts kissing his neck. He's learnt by now just how much Carlos likes that, and he can feel how the other man is going pliant beneath him, giving in to the attention.

Surrendering to it. Even though it isn't a conscious decision.

Kevin slides a little lower, teasing at Carlos' nipples, circling one with his tongue whilst toying with the other between finger and thumb. And that gets quite a reaction all on its own, making Carlos arch up against him.

"Please," the scientist gasps. "Please, please, please."

Kevin meets his eyes as if he's about to reply, grins as wickedly as he dares, and then goes back to what he was doing.

" _Please_ ," Carlos cries out, desperate now. "I need you, I need you."

Now Kevin presses in close, so he can whisper in Carlos' ear. "I need you too. But I could draw this out. Make you wait. Make you _plead_ with me, over and over. And you know what? You'd enjoy it."

"I… I…" Carlos tries, but he doesn't seem able to say what he wants to say. He doesn't need to, though. The answer is all there in his eyes, in his breathing. In the way his whole body shudders with need as Kevin pushes a hand between his legs again.

"Maybe one day soon I'll do that," Kevin tells him. "But for now… I think we've both waited long enough."

He steps back to allow him to start stripping everything else off the other man, tossing the last of his clothing aside before doing the same to himself. Carlos watches in obvious appreciation, but he's quick to pull Kevin in again once he's done, a suddenly cautious look in his eyes.

"Please tell me you have…"

"…lubricant?" Kevin surmises, understanding. "I do, yes."

"You planned this."

"Of course."

The lubricant in question is in the top drawer, next to his knife. His knife, which he'd so love to…

…no, no, not now. Not yet. But maybe one day.

He slicks two fingers with the lubricant, pressing in between Carlos' legs and gently pushing the first finger into him, and _loving_ the way the other man whimpers at that, rocking his head back and gasping, before staring up at Kevin.

"Good?" Kevin asks him.

Carlos nods. A lot. Kevin grins.

"More?"

Further emphatic nodding. Kevin's grin gets more wicked.

"Say please."

" _Please!_ "

The second finger is slipped in alongside the first, and for a moment Carlos doesn't even breathe, obviously too caught in the wave of pleasure that results. When he manages to focus again, it's clear he's already pretty far gone.

"My, my, you _are_ needy this afternoon, aren't you?" Kevin remarks, which seems to push the other man even deeper under.

"It's you," Carlos gasps. "You make me like this. You make my blood burn with how much I need you. With how much I–"

Kevin chooses this precise moment to push those two fingers as deep as he can, and Carlos bucks up against him, crying out in pleasure. " _More_ ," he begs, and he really is begging now. And _wow_ , that is gratifying. "Please, Kevin. _Please_."

The urge to keep tormenting him is strong. Very strong. But Kevin can't deny his own need much longer. Not now.

Not when Carlos looks at him like that.

He slips his fingers free – twisting as he does, just to get another reaction – and then reaches for the lubricant again, slicking himself with it and then pressing back in between Carlos' legs, pushing slowly but firmly into him.

" _Ohyes_ ," Carlos murmurs. "Yes, yes, like that… oh, Kevin…"

His name on the other man's lips is everything. Sunlight and fire and radiance, blazing through him, making the whole world glow. Carlos wraps his legs round Kevin's waist, keeping him close, holding on, and Kevin curls in over him, hips moving slowly to begin with, revelling in the way Carlos' eyes go slightly unfocused with each thrust.

Definitely time for more kissing. Kevin presses in, capturing the other man's lips, taking his time with it, letting Carlos wrap both arms around his shoulders, so they're completely tangled together.

Bliss. This is bliss. This is everything he's been waiting for. This is _who_ he's been waiting for. The rest of the world drops away, leaving only here, only now, only this, only _them_.

Kevin pulls back from the kiss, staring down at Carlos. Wondering if he…

…yes. Yes.

Kevin lifts up enough that he doesn't need his hands for support, leaving them free to grasp gentle hold of Carlos'. He kisses the other man's knuckles – one hand, then the other – so graceful and careful. And though he very much means it, he also wants to take the other man by surprise.

Slowly, firmly, he grips Carlos' hands – one in each of his own – and pushes them down against the desk, either side of his head. The act makes Carlos' eyes go wider still, and his heart is thundering so hard that Kevin can feel it, as he curls in close again, staring down at the man beneath him.

Carlos gives a little tug on his hands, but not hard enough to make any real attempt to break free. Oh no. This isn't him trying to escape. This is him wanting to feel how firmly he's held.

Kevin smiles, in equal parts triumph and adoration. "I thought you might like that," he purrs.

"I do," Carlos manages, even though he's trembling somewhat. "I do. I…"

"Shhhhh," Kevin tells him. "It's all right. Just enjoy it."

Carlos nods rather more than he needs to, and then Kevin moves in to kiss him again. To soothe him. To claim him. To…

…to love him.

Sweet merciless Azatothoth… Kevin loves him. Loves Carlos. Actual, full-on, world-changing _love_. And the thought is terrifying, and wonderful, and incredible.

And he's sure of it.

But he can't say it. He can take down crowds of enemies and summon demons and survive multiple society events but telling Carlos he loves him is going to be more of a challenge than all those things combined.

Not because he doesn't mean it. Because he _does_ mean it. Very, very much.

No. Because he hasn't said those words to anyone since Callum.

And because he knows he means it even more now.

"You're amazing," Kevin tells him, instead, and he means this, too. "You _feel_ amazing."

"So do you," Carlos gasps in reply. "Kevin, I'm so close, I…"

"…Then come for me," Kevin growls in his ear, still holding him down. "Come for me, you beautiful man."

And Carlos doesn't need telling twice. He cries out as release overtakes him, bucking up against Kevin, and that jolt of movement – coupled with sheer wonder at the sight of him like this – is enough to push Kevin over the edge as well. Pleasure blazes through him, and he presses his face into the crook of Carlos' neck, murmuring his name over and over until both of them go still, and collapse against each other.

"Oh, that was good," Kevin manages, after a long moment. "That was so very good."

He lets go of Carlos' hands, and the other man immediately reaches up to wrap around him, holding on tight.

Both of them hold on tight.

Perhaps both of them have something they need to say.

But, right now… neither of them can.

"If that was your start to the evening, I can't wait to see what you've got planned for later," Carlos remarks.

And Kevin smiles. "Well, you know me. I'm full of surprises."


	15. Pakana

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then there's this. And whether you know what's coming or not... I really am sorry.

**Pakana**

_Dagger_

***

It's early the next morning.

Kevin wakes slowly, the memories of the previous afternoon… and evening… and night… all rushing to the forefront of his mind, and he can't hold back a smile. The other side of the bed is empty, but he looks over and sees Carlos at once, wrapped in his dressing gown and standing at the window, peering out through the gap in the curtains.

"…You can open them, you know," Kevin tells him. "That way we can both watch the sunrise."

Carlos glances back for a second. "I didn't want to wake you."

He accepts the offer, though, pulling the curtains apart enough to let the bright, brilliant glow of dawn spill into the room. The sunlight pushes back the darkness, falling warm and welcome across Kevin's face, and he smiles again.

Slowly, he rises to his feet, slips his own dressing gown on, and paces across to where Carlos is standing, now silhouetted against the light. He steps in behind the man, wrapping both arms around his waist and kissing softly at the curve of his neck, just where he likes it the most.

"Well, good morning," Kevin whispers.

"Hey," Carlos breathes, pressing back against him, which makes Kevin hold him in closer.

They stand quietly for a long moment, and Kevin is sure Carlos is deep in thought. But then, Carlos is a scientist, so he's usually deep in thought.

"It still freaks me out," Carlos says, eventually, headtilting out the window at Desert Bluffs. The town beyond the window glitters red in the dawn, full of hope and promise.

"I know," Kevin tells him, kissing Carlos' neck again. "But you're getting better at it. You seem to have stopped having the dreams."

Apparently newcomers to town often have weird dreams. And that… well. That sort of fits with the whole…

…OK, don't think about that now.

"Yeah," Carlos agrees. "I could do without those."

"I know. Although… it was kinda cute, the way I sometimes used to wake up to find you clinging to me."

It was totally cute. As was the look Carlos used to get in his eyes after Kevin had calmed him down again.

"…Less fun when I was alone in my own apartment, though."

"Ah, so _that's_ why you're here practically every night now…"

"…You know why I'm here practically every night now…" Carlos murmurs. There's a flicker of nervous embarrassment to his tone, and that makes Kevin smile, because he _does_ know.

"Sure I do," Kevin replies, brightly. "Because of that thing I can do that makes you scream my name like it's the only word in your vocabulary."

" _Besides_ that," Carlos says, the nervousness still there in his voice.

"I know," Kevin says, softer again. "And I'm glad you are. Because I think…"

All of a sudden, he realises. This is it. This is the same feeling he had yesterday afternoon. Only now… all the apprehension is gone. Well, no. Not gone. But he can see past it.

His heart is racing in his chest as he speaks, though he tries to keep his tone level as he finally, finally, _finally_ says the words that are burning him up inside.

"…I think I love you."

For a moment, Kevin feels like he isn't even breathing, and suddenly, it feels as though Carlos isn't breathing either.

"…I think I love you too."

The words are so wonderful, he wants to cry out in joy. Wants to throw open the window and shout it to the skies. Wants to hold this wonderful man in his arms forever and ever. He wraps Carlos in tighter, searing this moment into his memories, so it will always be a part of him.

"I… ah… should probably go shower," Carlos manages. "I have lots of science to be getting to and… and…"

Kevin can't quite resist. He slips his hand under Carlos' dressing gown and starts stroking over the other man's chest, circling a nipple with one fingertip. Deliberately winding him up just a little. Just because he loves him.

He loves him. And Carlos loves him back.

"…You don't have to go straight away, do you?" he murmurs in Carlos' ear.

It turns out that Carlos does not have to go straight away.

In fact, Carlos does not have to go for quite a while.

***

Kevin is midway through his show that afternoon when the news comes in. He's just finishing up the community calendar when the door to the booth opens and Daniel steps in, making the don't-stop-broadcasting gesture he uses when he wants to pass on a message without interrupting. Although… it's rare for Daniel himself to interrupt. Usually he sends one of the interns.

Daniel hands Kevin a sheet of paper with a rather pointed expression, albeit one with the barest flicker of alarm behind everything else. As his producer withdraws from the room, Kevin looks at the paper, and feels his whole body tense in surprise.

Well. He's going to have to report this at once.

And then he's going to have to wrap things up pretty quickly.

 _"Oh… some breaking news, listeners. I have just received word from our beloved local mega-conglomerate, Strexcorp Synernists Inc, that they have today been informed of an impending hostile takeover bid by Nietzsche Futures PLC. This news came from out of the blue – especially considering what happened during the last attempted takeover bid Strexcorp faced back in 2003 – and a Strex spokesperson, giving a hastily-arranged press conference on the front steps of their HQ building, announced moments ago:_ "We do not know why any other company would attempt to move in on our territory, given our reputation, though we suspect it is due to our unbeaten business model and groundbreaking programme of urban regeneration. Nevertheless, Strexcorp does not stand for takeover bids – hostile or otherwise – and we are immediately calling on all our staff – both directly and indirectly employed – to take action. Nietzsche Futures' takeover teams are expected to arrive in Desert Bluffs within the hour and we cannot – we will not – allow them to succeed." _So there you have it, folks. If you're on Strexcorp's books – and, let's face it, who in town isn't? – you should immediately make your way to your designated clocking-in point and prepare to defend your employers – and your town – from this unwelcome and unacceptable attempt on our tranquil way of life. And so, as we all move towards this unexpected addition to our day, I give you… the weather."_

Kevin cues the weather and sits back. A hostile takeover attempt. It's been eight years since the last one – since Crimson Holdings made their very ill-fated move on Strexcorp – and in the intervening years, no one else has dared.

Not after what happened to Crimson Holdings.

Remembering that day makes Kevin's whole body ache. On the one hand, it was a triumph for Strexcorp. On the other… that was the day he… he and Mr Hartley…

He's still worked closely with the man since this whole thing with Carlos started up, but the truth of the matter is that he and Mr Hartley haven't been together like _that_ since before Susan Hartley died. And… and maybe it's all just over and that's probably for the best because of said aforementioned thing with Carlos and…

…And yet Kevin isn't sure. And thinking about it worries him. Especially because of the part where…

…OK, no, seriously, stop thinking about _that_.

But a new hostile takeover attempt? Surely he can deal with one of those. It's not exactly good news, but Strex's track record in general – and his own in particular – leaves little room for concern.

Nietzsche Futures PLC won't stand a chance.

Not when Kevin is through with them.

***

His cellphone rings as he comes running out of the radio station. Pulling it from his pocket, Kevin looks at the screen, and sees that it's Mr Hartley's private line.

"I'm here, sir," he says at once, as he takes the call.

"Kevin, good, we appear to have a slight situation," Hartley starts out, all business. "The first waves from Nietzsche Futures are already in town, and they've staged an attack on the main Accounting offices. I need you to go there at once and deal with them. I'm sending several teams of enforcers to join you, but I want you to take command of the scene as soon as you arrive."

"Understood, sir. Where are you?"

"I'm with the rest of the Management Board. Another wave of their people is heading towards the HQ tower, and we're going to intercept them nearby. Should be one to remember. Lauren is with me. Naomi and Darla have gone to rally the Coven of the Sun."

"Good to know. I'll make sure the Accounting offices are secured."

"I can always count on you. Watch yourself."

"I always do, sir."

Kevin has barely had time to slip his phone away before it beeps again: a text message this time.

 _'You need us?'_ it says. It's from Khalid, the leader of what was once Adam Mallard's old posse. Kevin still has cause to call on them from time to time, and now seems as good an opportunity as any.

 _'Yes,'_ he replies. _'Main Accounting offices, fast as you can. Bring everyone.'_

In the distance, there come the sounds of explosions, and screams.

This is going to be quite an afternoon.

***

Fighting is in full-swing by the time Kevin makes it to the main Accounting offices. The complex, built on the inner edge of the city suburbs, consists of a number of large, glass-and-chrome buildings, which glitter enticingly in the sunlight.

Right now, one of them is on fire. The sight of it fills Kevin's heart with anger, his blood burning with the need to fight. To make these interlopers _pay_. He launches into the battle without hesitation, knife drawn, taking down two of the Nietzsche Futures guys before they have a chance to respond.

All their people are dressed in black suits – much like the Strex teams – but they have bright, sky-blue ties, which make them easy to pick out of a crowd. Easy to target.

Easy to take down, over and over, although perhaps that's more because of their insufficient combat skills, rather than the other thing. Though that's no excuse to do this _without_ a helpful eight-foot demon at his side.

Kevin summons Azatothoth the Bloodthirsty without leaving it any longer. As the demon appears in a flash of light, he looks around immediately, seeing the scene he's just materialised in the middle of.

"…Hostile takeover?" he asks, with a bright, terrifying smile.

"Yep," Kevin tells him.

"This doesn't make up for that thing we don't talk about."

"It kinda does a little bit."

"Fine. But only a little bit. Can I go wild now?"

"Azzie, I would be _delighted_ if you did."

So he does.

The situation is starting to calm a little by the time Kevin manages to find Khalid and the rest of the posse. They're fighting in a group, taking down opponents, and they all look pleased as he comes hurrying over, felling another pair of blue-tied attackers en route, with Azatothoth trailing in his wake.

"There you are!" Khalid exclaims. "We were getting worried!"

"Not about me, I trust?" Kevin replies.

"Oh no," Khalid says. "We were worried that something more interesting was happening elsewhere and we were missing it!"

"Well, I'm glad to reassure you," Kevin tells him. "Now… I think it's time we took control of this situation."

So they do. It isn't a quick process, but by the time the worst of the fighting is over, Strexcorp has regained control of the site, and the enforcers swarm in to start mopping up the last of their opponents (literally and metaphorically). A pair of said enforcers hurries over to him, saluting at once, though he waves at them to stop.

"At ease, at ease, both of you, you know I'm non-executive."

"You're Mr Hartley's fixer, sir," one of them points out. "Just give the word and we'll see it done."

And… OK, wow, that's kind of gratifying. And he really shouldn't enjoy it too much.

"Get the building secured," Kevin orders, enjoying it too much. "And have someone bring me a report on what's been happening inside. And…" He stops in mid-sentence, having just pulled out his phone, and seen that there's no signal. "…Find out why the cellphone network is down."

"At once, sir!" the enforcer says, and both of them hurry off.

… _Far_ too gratifying.

It's a little while before the requested reports come back in, but – given that there are still blue-tied people about – Kevin and the posse have more than enough ways to keep themselves occupied.

They're covered in quite a lot of blood by the time the enforcers return, and snap to attention again.

"The complex is now secured," the lead enforcer reports. "We've got people posted at every ingress point, and the staff inside have regained control. There have been heavy casualties, but the worst of it is over. One point of note… some of the attackers from Nietzsche Futures have made off with a number of the general ledgers, and the Accounting middle-managers are rather eager to get them back."

Kevin nods. "I see. Do we know which way they went?"

"North-east. Deeper into the suburbs."

Another nod. "All right. Leave that to me. What about the cellphone signal?"

"Enforcement HQ sent a runner. They've got signal-blockers up all over town. New tech, to make it harder for the attackers to communicate with each other."

Kevin can't help thinking that it also makes it harder for the _Strex_ people to communicate with each other, but maybe that's a point for the yearly staff survey, and not for the here and now.

"I see," he says. "Keep this site secured. I'm taking a group to look for the general ledgers, and to deal with anyone else we run into."

"Understood, sir."

As the enforcers hurry off, Kevin turns back to Khalid and the rest of the posse. "All of you, with me," he says. "We're heading into the suburbs. And, Azzie?"

Off to the side, Azatothoth drops the severed arm he's been using to hit its former owner. "Hmmm?" the demon rumbles.

"Do try to keep up."

***

They head deeper into the suburbs, taking down blue-tied attackers as they go. It's a little quieter here, though the distant rumble of battle is unmistakeable, and it's clear that Nietzsche Futures is definitely better at this than Crimson Holdings ever was.

On they go, block by block, streaked with blood and bathed in the light of the early evening sun, shining through the haze kicked up by all the fire and combat, and _wow_ , Kevin feels good. So very good. He's fighting and they're winning and he has allies by his side and…

…And then he realises. He knows this neighbourhood. This is where Carlos lives. And that, just over there is his…

…his…

Carlos is standing on the grass outside his apartment building. He stands and he stares, eyes wide with unrestrained horror. One of the men from Nietzsche Futures is dead on the ground just a little way away, and Kevin can't fight the realisation that Carlos may have seen it happen.

And Carlos… Carlos does not belong in this world. Carlos belongs in a better world. A better world, where these kinds of things do not take place.

And Kevin knows it.

He gestures to Khalid and the others, still following close on his heel. "I need to deal with this. All of you, head off that way and I'll catch you up."

"Understood," Khalid says – perhaps understanding more than he lets on – and he leads the others off, leaving Kevin standing alone in the street, facing Carlos.

This might be OK. Maybe he's just surprised. Maybe if Kevin just plays this calmly, it will all work out.

Maybe he should put the knife away, though. That might be for the best. He sheaths it as he walks over, aware that the look in Carlos' eyes is not good.

"…Kevin?" Carlos manages, voice about an octave higher than usual. "Kevin… what have you..?"

He looks so scared. All Kevin wants to do is tell him it will be OK. Explain everything. Help him understand. He reaches out to put a hand on Carlos' shoulder, and is more than a little alarmed when Carlos backs away from him.

"What is it?" he asks, the surprise registering in his voice. "Are you all right? I figured you'd be safe this far out… the takeover operation was heaviest in the town centre."

"You… I…" Carlos tries again, his voice anything but level.

It's at this point that, with his usual perfect timing, Azatothoth the Bloodthirsty comes looming out of the haze, spiked sword in hand, looking his usual charming self.

Carlos screams, and Kevin manages to grab his arm before the man can race indoors. Once again, Carlos tries to push him off, and Kevin takes the hint after a second, when he's confident that Carlos won't immediately try to run for it.

"What _is_ that thing?!" Carlos exclaims in obvious horror.

Azatothoth really does have wonderful timing. Or possibly not. Kevin turns to the demon. " _There_ you are!" he calls. "Could you maybe keep up?"

"Sorry," Azatothoth rumbles. "I spotted one of their accounting teams a couple of blocks back. Couldn't resist."

This is fair enough, especially given what happened at the main Strexcorp Accounting complex, and Kevin can't suppress a grin. "Oh, you," he says, and then remembers himself, looking back at Carlos. If he's doing this, he'd better just get on and do it. "Sorry, where are my manners? Carlos, this is Azatothoth."

"Aza… what?"

"Azatothoth. Merciless Azatothoth the Bloodthirsty, Seventeenth Adjunct to the Fourth Infernal Plane."

Carlos is now staring at Azatothoth as if he doesn't quite believe the demon is actually there. "He's a… a…"

"He's a demon," Kevin says. "My demon."

Well, it had to come up sooner or later.

"Your… demon…"

"Yes! Well, it's a time-share arrangement. He's soul-bound to… how many is it now?"

"Over two hundred beings or entities across four planes of existence," Azatothoth chips in, sword resting on his shoulder in his favourite hurry-up-so-we-can-kill-more-things pose.

"But… where did he..?" Carlos now tries.

"Oh, I summoned him," Kevin answers. "I told you I could do that."

"I thought you were _joking!_ "

"About demon-summoning? Carlos, that's hardly something to _joke_ about…"

Though Kevin has feared as much since the first time he tried to bring the topic up. And this really isn't the way he would have wanted Carlos to find out.

"Look," Azatothoth cuts in, very pointedly, "you two obviously need to have a little talk, and I haven't killed anything in at least ninety seconds, so I'm going to wander over to the park at the end of the street where I can _clearly_ see three people hiding in the bushes and keep myself occupied until you're all done."

This sounds like an excellent idea. "Sure thing," Kevin replies. "See if you can get them to tell you where they've put the general ledgers. I know the middle-managers are still looking for some of those."

"Will do," Azatothoth says, and stalks off.

Kevin turns back to Carlos. "…You're covered in blood," Carlos manages. The words don't seem to have come easily.

Surely the best option here is _not_ to make a thing of it. Kevin tries to keep his tone calm as he answers. "Yeah," he says. "Hostile takeover. Company called Nietzsche Futures PLC came to town and–"

"…I know," Carlos interrupts. "I heard your broadcast. Kevin, hostile takeovers happen in boardrooms. Deeply boring people with deeply boring spreadsheets debate them, an imperceptibly large quantity of money moves about electronically, and life carries on as normal."

"Uh… not round here," Kevin has to tell him. "Here… hostile takeovers are a bit more… you know. Hands-on."

Often in the very literal sense.

Carlos stares at him again. "You're covered in blood!" he repeats, rather high-pitched.

_Act normal, act normal, act normal…_

Kevin shrugs. "That's pretty standard. And I am pretty high up the non-executive side of things, so I was right in at the deep end. Had to summon Azzie almost at once and–"

"…Azzie?!"

"Azzie. Azatothoth." Kevin gestures down the street to where Azatothoth is now chasing a blue-tied man with what is very clearly a detached leg in his other hand.

Apparently this is a thing today.

"…You call that _creature_ … 'Azzie'?!" Carlos flat-out squeaks.

This is not going well, is it? All Kevin can do is keep running with it, but he can feel the fear creeping into his heart. Fear that he has completely, catastrophically messed this up.

"Sure I do, at least informally," he answers, with what he hopes is a casual shrug. "Not in front of our superiors, of course."

Carlos stares for a long moment, seemingly on the point of hyperventilating. _"…You're covered in blood!"_ he manages, for a third time, as if he thinks he's going to get a different response.

Or… oh. Maybe he's concerned. After all… in _other_ places, being covered in blood usually means that you're hurt. Doesn't it?

"Yeah. It isn't mine, though, so don't worry."

"How can you be so _calm_ about this?!"

Not good. Not good. Not good.

"Seriously, Carlos, I'm fine," Kevin insists, and he reaches to put a hand on Carlos' shoulder again, desperate to pull him in. Desperate to prove to him that it's all right.

Desperate to hold him.

Carlos pushes him off, firmer this time, and that's when the full-on fear kicks in. Memories of this morning flash behind his eyes, whispered I-love-yous in the glow of dawn, and suddenly it all hurts more than Kevin can bear. But he doesn't dare let on.

"Carlos… what is it?" he asks softly, even though he already knows. He knows, and it's every nightmare coming true at once.

"You… this… all of this," Carlos replies, backing off further with his hands held up defensively. "You're wandering around drenched in _blood_ and you don't seem to care!"

"Of course I care!" Kevin insists in desperation. "It was a hostile takeover! Do you know how dangerous those are? I was defending my employers, my town, my… I was defending _you_."

Because he was. This is what he does. This is who he is. Who he _really_ is.

…What if Carlos can't love who Kevin really is?

"Me?!" Carlos exclaims, eyes wide in renewed horror. "Don't make this about me!"

"But… how could it not be? You're my… my… Carlos, I _love_ you."

The words burn him up inside, both with how much he means them, and how fast he can feel everything they represent slipping away.

"…Don't," Carlos gasps. Pleads. "Just… don't. I can't."

"Carlos," Kevin says, reaching for him once again, "let's just go inside a moment and talk about this and…"

"No," Carlos manages. "No."

***

Kevin can't stop what happens next. Can't stop Carlos running back inside, slamming the door as he goes. Can't make the man talk to him.

And he can't stop Carlos when he hurries back out the front door, heavy bag slung over his shoulder, stalking straight to the car.

"Please don't do this," Kevin begs. "Carlos, please, just let me explain."

"I can't," Carlos says, agony in his voice. "I can't. I just… I have to go."

He slams the car door shut, kicks it into reverse, and hurtles back out onto the street.

He's leaving. He's leaving. The love of Kevin's life is leaving and there is nothing he can do to stop it.

"Carlos!" he calls out, desperate, agonised, his whole world collapsing to ash right in front of him. "Carlos, please don't do this."

He sees Carlos glance in the rear-view mirror. Sees the man look back one last time.

Then the car accelerates away, and Carlos is gone.

The pain and the rage – rage at himself, at this, at all of this – hit at once, and Kevin drops to his knees, head raised to the blood-red sky and howling out in grief. How did this happen? How could he have let this happen?

He's alone. He lost Callum, he's failed with everyone else he's tried to get close to, and now Carlos, the most incredible man in the whole world, has left him.

It's over. It's all over. There's nothing remaining. Nothing.

Nothing but blood.

Nothing but Strexcorp.

Azatothoth comes stalking over, with the most understanding look Kevin has ever seen the demon exhibit.

"What do you need?" he asks.

" _Targets_ ," Kevin replies.

If the day was bloody, the night is so much worse.

***

It's dark by the time anyone finds him.

Battle is still rumbling on in pockets across the city, but Nietzsche Futures is definitely on the back foot now, and it won't be much longer before they're completely overwhelmed. Before the Strexcorp teams destroy them, as was always inevitable.

In the midst of it all, Kevin is still fighting. Needing to do it alone, he's long since told Azatothoth to return to the Fourth, and the demon – a little begrudgingly – has done as instructed. Khalid and the others were much easier, and where they've gotten to, Kevin has no idea.

And now, this. Target after target after target, downed in sequence, one then another then the next.

It doesn't numb the pain. Nothing does. Kevin has been checking the cellphone signal regularly, and as soon as it comes back he tries calling Carlos, desperate to get the man to come home.

But Carlos never answers, and after a couple of attempts, the call goes straight to voicemail without ringing.

He's gone. He's gone and he isn't coming back.

It's Naomi who finds Kevin, finishing off a small group of blue-tied interlopers close to the city core. He spots her as the last of the current wave falls, and he knows that she'll be able to read everything in his face.

Almost everything.

"What happened?" Naomi asks, hurrying over.

Kevin doesn't answer. He's exhausted and covered in blood, but he doesn't want to stop. He wants these waves of enemies to keep coming and coming so he never _has_ to stop.

So he never has to think.

"I don't want to talk about it," he manages, when it's clear Naomi isn't going to just drop the matter.

"Kevin," she pushes, "tell me. Please."

"I said I don't want to talk about it."

If the state of him didn't get her attention, the sharpness certainly does. For a second, instinct makes anger flash in her eyes, and then logical thought obviously gets the better of it, and she mellows before she speaks.

"What happened?"

"Nothing. Nothing happened. Everything is just _fine_."

Naomi grabs his arm, perhaps realising – correctly – that he's thinking of running off.

" _Kevin_. Tell me."

For a long moment, the rage and the anger and the need to _fight_ all burn brighter than the sun ever could. Brighter than… than the _Smiling God_ ever could.

And then it all collapses. _He_ collapses, though Naomi catches him as he does.

"He left me, Naomi," Kevin gasps, the words a ceaseless agony. "Carlos left me."

Naomi pulls him in and just holds him. And she really isn't the hugging type.

"Why?"

"Because he found out who I really am. What I really do. And that me… the _real_ me… he couldn't love."

"He told you he loved you?"

Kevin nods against her. "This morning. We both did. This morning he told me he loved me, and this evening… he…"

The walls inside his mind finally go down, and before he can stop himself he's sobbing in Naomi's arms; a rush of uncontrollable grief that doesn't end. That feels as though it will never end.

"He was the best thing that ever happened to me. My one chance at true happiness. And I ruined it. I ruined it all. I lost him, Naomi. I lost him and now there's nothing left, and I…"

The idea filters through into his mind, as if it has been quietly waiting there for him to notice it. An idea, a solution, borne aloft on the soft echoes of a ceaseless song…

Kevin pulls back from the hug, blinking as if seeing the world clearly for the first time all night. "I know what I have to do now. I'm going to the Bloodstone, Naomi. I'm going to the Bloodstone and I'm going to make it all stop."

Naomi stares at him in alarm; alarm that blends to a terrible understanding. "How long?" she breathes. "How long have you been..?"

"…Weeks," he whispers. Neither of them can truly say it, but they both know. "Months."

"And you never once let on..?"

"Never. I'm a good liar, Naomi. I'm _very_ good. And I thought, maybe, I could find a way to be myself _and_ the person Strexcorp wants me to be. The person… the person your father wants me to be…"

"How much do you remember?" she whispers, looking as though – for once in her life – she doesn't know what to do.

"Enough," he replies, softly. "Mostly snippets. Flickers. Echoes." A pause. "Enough. But I can't be that person and this person at the same time." Another pause, as he slips his knife away, resolute. "And I can't be this person any more."

"Kevin… you don't have to do this," Naomi says, the pain in her eyes unveiled and honest. A pain he realises is there a lot more often than he usually processes.

"I know," he replies. "I don't have to. I _want_ to."

"I can help you. I can find a way to…"

"No," Kevin interjects, softly. "No. I won't make you go down that road. Not for me."

"You know I would."

"I know you would. And now I have to go. Don't worry. When you see me again… everything really _will_ be fine."

And before Naomi has a chance to stop him, Kevin turns and runs.

Runs towards the only solution he has left.

***

The Bloodstone plaza is empty and still when Kevin arrives.

There's been fighting here, no doubt about it, but anyone left alive has long since moved on, and there's no one in sight. The glow of the Bloodstone itself fills the air, brighter than usual, as if the thing is enjoying what's been going on in the town all around it.

Kevin stands, and he stares. He isn't trying to psych himself up to this. He knows what he's going to do, and nothing will stop him.

Everything in his head is disjointed, unclear, and trying to engage with it is like trying to catch hold of mist. He knows, though he isn't sure how, that the vast crystal up ahead is the enemy here. That it controls everyone. That – for the most part – it controls _him_. And he's not certain at what point in the preceding weeks he first worked this out, though it must have been around the same time that the dreams started up.

What he is certain of is that this has happened before. He doesn't know when, or how many times, but he knows that it has. Knows this isn't the first time he's broken free of the vast crystal in the centre of the square.

Knows it probably won't be the last time.

He also knows that this time is different. This time… this time he never said a word to anyone. This time, he kept on living the life he was supposed to live, whilst quietly living a different life underneath. The real him. His real life. The person he would be, were it not for that thing up ahead.

He's not quite sure how he got the two lives to mesh together. Maybe he's not quite who he thinks he is.

Maybe he's never known who he really is.

Well. It doesn't matter now. He can't be that person. He needs to be the person Desert Bluffs wants him to be. The person Strexcorp wants him to be.

He needs to be the person Carlos ran from. The person who Carlos ran from can cope with the loss.

The person Kevin really is… can't.

He takes a deep breath, wavering for a second. Wondering, in that instant, if this is the right thing to do. To give in. To accept.

And that's when the whole plaza fills with ghosts.

They aren't really there. He's sure of it. And yet… he sees them all: a great crowd of translucent people, glowing faintly red, staring over at him, silent and accusatory. Some of their faces are familiar, some aren't. But he knows who they are. Who they all are.

These are the people he's killed. For Strexcorp. For Desert Bluffs.

For Derek Hartley.

There will be more, if he goes through with this. Kevin knows it. But if he doesn't…

No. No. There is no 'if he doesn't'. He is going to. He has to.

Slowly, cautiously, Kevin starts to walk towards the Bloodstone. He knows it is causing him to see all these people. Knows it is making a point by doing so.

 _Forget. Forget, and they will all go away_.

Blank faces with dark eyes stare at him as he walks. They part to let him through, and they don't come too close, but he can feel them watching him from all around; echoes of mistakes. Of choices.

Of the lack thereof.

Kevin wonders how many times he's broken free. Wonders what happened when he did. The flickers of memory flit back and forth in his mind, but he can't engage properly with any of them for more than a second. It's the same each time: a flash of understanding, and then gone.

A flash of understanding, and then gone.

It doesn't matter. Soon, it will _all_ be gone. No more memories. No more ghosts. Just the cool, calm certainty he needs. With that, he can keep going. With that, he can survive losing Carlos.

Without it… he'll fall apart.

Up ahead, the ghosts move aside, and his way to the Bloodstone is clear… no. No. _Almost_ clear. One last ghost stands in his path.

It's Callum Outteridge. He's just as Kevin remembers him: young and bright and beautiful… and stained with blood from the attack that took him from the world. From the dissident blade that…

…that…

A flash of memory. Callum, held between two enforcers. Kevin, a heavy, unfamiliar blade in his hand.

A breath. A moment. No question. No hesitation. Just obedience.

He meets eyes with the ghost in front of him: bright blue eyes, so unlike the rest of the people in Desert Bluffs. So _like_ the others in the Management Board.

So different. So… _other_.

And he understands what happened. What _really_ happened.

What he did.

"Is this what you wanted?!" he shouts, not at the ghost, but at the Bloodstone.

There is, of course, no response, but the song thundering in his head is answer enough.

Kevin needs it to stop. Needs it all to stop. Needs the memories gone, needs the certainty to return. It's the only way he can carry on.

The only solution he's ever had.

 _Give in_.

He looks at the Bloodstone. Looks at the long crack covering that front facet.

 _Knows_. Just for a second. Knows it all. Knows, understands, _remembers_.

And gives it all up.

He walks forward, past the last ghost, up to the Bloodstone, and slams both hands against the red-crystal surface without the barest flicker of hesitation.

A rush of pain. A wave of serenity. A bright spark of certainty.

Kevin steps back from the Bloodstone, staring around him at the empty plaza. He is not at all sure how he got here, and that's more than a little unsettling, but it _has_ been a very long night, and combat does have a tendency to drain him if he loses himself in it.

But it was the best way. The thought of Carlos having left him still burns like a knife to the heart, though the fighting helps. And it might not all be over yet.

And being here, with the Bloodstone – the bright, beautiful Bloodstone – is enough to give anyone fresh resolve.

Carlos is gone, but Strexcorp remains.

And Kevin knows where he belongs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only thing harder than writing this once was writing it twice.
> 
> Well! You've probably guessed that I'm getting close to the end of this one now. I don't know for sure, but I reckon there's probably a couple more chapters to come. It depends on whether they have any extra surprises for me!
> 
> Coming Up Next: Ignorance may not be bliss, but it's better than nothing. It won't last, though. Not when there's a world-changing sandstorm incoming...


	16. Eremo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...So I'm back.
> 
> I realise I kind of dropped off the face of the world last November (for which I apologise unreservedly). November... was November (let's just leave it at that) and then along came Christmas (which was lovely, and very welcome) and of course in the midst of it all there's the part where I've already seen _The Force Awakens_ four times (keep your eye on my story feed if you're a fan of that one!)
> 
> And now, here I am. Back to finish what I started. Here, at last, are the final two chapters of this particular story. For those of you who have stuck with me - and with this - over the last year, I thank you from the bottom of my fangirl heart.
> 
> More rambling at the end. First... some breaking news. There's a sandstorm incoming...

**Eremo**

_Desert_

***

It's the day after the now-failed hostile takeover attempt by Nietzsche Futures, and Kevin is not at all surprised to be called in by Derek Hartley.

It hasn't been a good night, and Kevin has hardly slept. But that's OK. He's still raw from Carlos leaving, though the knowledge of having helped repel another hostile takeover is definitely making him feel better. As is the knowledge that everyone else he cares about has made it through all right.

Naomi seems to be in a strange mood, and Kevin isn't sure why, though he has the feeling it's something to do with when they ran into each other the previous night. He doesn't remember the meeting well, however – the haze of combat being what it is – and he wonders if Naomi will shed any light on it all when next they meet up.

It's mid-morning by the time Kevin gets to the HQ tower, heading straight up to the top office. Andrew is at his desk, as usual, though he's nursing what look to be a couple of nasty cuts to the arm.

"Darned interlopers," is all he will say, when Kevin asks about it.

He heads on into Derek Hartley's office, door closing behind him. The man himself looks as he always does – tall, immaculate, and inexplicably unaged – and he smiles as Kevin paces closer.

"There you are," Hartley says, turning from where he's been standing at the window. "I'm sorry I didn't see you yesterday. It was all rather hectic."

"Not a problem, sir," Kevin answers. "I was still fighting their people off until late into the night."

Hartley smiles, in the way he does when he knows more than he's letting on. Which is most of the time. "So I gather. You realise you didn't have to take them _all_ down by yourself?"

"I would if I had to."

That smile brightens. "I know. I also gather you had some personal problems yesterday evening."

Kevin goes cold, and meeting the other man's eyes is suddenly very difficult. "You… you heard about that?"

"Of course," Hartley tells him, calmly. "You're a well-known figure in Desert Bluffs, Kevin. And moreover, the scientist you were involved with was something of a person of interest. I had him recruited, after all."

"You did?"

"I did. I have the science teams working on a _very_ important project, and my hope was that – once Carlos had acclimatised to the town – he would play a part in it. A large part. I must say, his departure is a serious loss."

"I'm sorry, sir," Kevin says, now looking down. "If I'd known, I–"

Hartley holds up a hand. "Don't apologise," he says, not unkindly. "From what I understand, you gave him reason to stay as long as he did. Sometimes… these things just happen. And besides, Strexcorp losing a scientist – even such a talented one – is nothing compared to what you must be going through right now."

Oh, this is strange. They never discuss Kevin's relationships. It's obvious Hartley knows when there's something going on, but they don't talk about it. They certainly don't commiserate over it.

"It hurts," Kevin whispers, aware that he's speaking without thinking, aware that he really shouldn't be saying these things to the other man, and yet unable to stop himself. "I'm sorry," he adds, quickly. "I shouldn't–"

"I told you not to apologise," Hartley reminds him, tone firm now but not at all harsh. He steps in closer, right in front of Kevin, slipping a hand under his jaw and gently lifting his head up. The touch sends a rush of heat running through Kevin's whole body, and he meets the other man's eyes at once, catching them like the sun and not looking away again, even though he should.

It's been nearly two years, and yet all it takes is fingers on his jawline, and Kevin is ready to drop to his knees. Maybe he needs to. Maybe the only way to move beyond the man he's lost is to go back to the man who's always there.

Who always pulls him in.

Who will never let him go.

"Do you want me to stop?" Hartley says, and that takes Kevin by surprise too.

"No," he whispers in reply, without thinking about it. "I…"

He can't say it. Can't say how much he's hurting. Can't say how badly he needs these feelings to just _end_.

"I know," Hartley tells him, without Kevin having to give voice to any of it. "I know. I left it too long to do this again. I should have done it sooner. Should have reminded you who you belong to…"

And Hartley kisses him, before Kevin can even consider a response. It starts out unexpectedly gentle and soft, but gradually becomes firmer, and deeper, and – before he knows it – the other man has taken hold of him, pushing him back against the wall.

Yes. _Yes_. This is what he needs. To be overwhelmed. To be made to forget.

To be taken back. Or maybe just _taken_.

The kiss breaks, but the other man does not move away. Not even a little. "Was that good?" Hartley breathes.

" _Yes, sir_ ," Kevin replies. He knows he's shaking rather a lot, but there's no way to hide it, and certainly no way to stop it.

The acquiescence opens the floodgates, and all at once Hartley seizes hold of Kevin's hands, pushing them rather more roughly against the wall, either side of his head. For a second, lack of practice – and heightened emotion – makes Kevin resist somewhat, but the other man just tightens his grip until all the resistance is gone, and Kevin goes pliant once more.

"That's it," Hartley breathes, sure and certain. "That's it. Just give in to me, and everything will be all right."

The words are everything Kevin needs right now. Acceptance. Consolation. _Distraction_.

"Please," Kevin whispers, some element of fear still getting the better of him. "Please take me back. I'm sorry I–"

All at once, Hartley steps just far enough away to allow him to flip Kevin around and slam him face-first against the wall, wrists pinned either side of his head again. The sudden movement takes him by surprise, but it's only part of why he doesn't resist.

Once he's in place, the other man presses in behind him. "I told you not to apologise," Hartley re-iterates once more, sharper this time. "And I can assure you, Kevin, that I may have let you wander, but I _never_ let you go. Do you understand?"

" _Yessir_ ," Kevin gasps, quickly, bowing his head as much as his current position will allow. "Yes. Yes. I understand."

"Good," Hartley says, softer again. "Good. I think perhaps you need to be reminded of where you belong, and who you belong _to_. Would you like that?"

"Yes," Kevin replies. " _Please_."

There's a pause, as if the other man is considering, and then Hartley lets go of him and takes a couple of steps back, though no more. "Strip to the waist," he orders, levelly. "Don't move away. Don't turn around. Then put your hands on the wall again."

Instructions are good, even if these ones make Kevin's heart race. He does as he's told, lightly tossing his clothes aside and then stepping back in against the wall, hands pressed either side of his head.

For a moment, Hartley doesn't move, and it's hard to tell if he's considering something again, or simply enjoying the view. And then he draws his knife. The sound goes right through Kevin, making his breath catch long enough to leave him slightly dizzy, and for a moment he can't quite process what's happening.

What _is_ happening? Does the other man mean to kill him? Or… or _hurt_ him?

"Do you trust me, Kevin?" Hartley asks.

"You know I do, sir," Kevin whispers in reply, without thinking about it. Maybe he doesn't need to think about it.

"Good. Good. Then relax, and _trust me_."

Before Kevin can come up with a response to this, he feels the blade touch his skin, and the whole world goes white for a second. And in that same second, Kevin can't quite work out why that kiss of cool metal isn't followed immediately by pain. Because it isn't. It isn't, and – on some level – he's understood all along that it wouldn't be. But on all the other levels, it still doesn't make sense.

The knife starts to move across his back, slowly tracing a path between his shoulders. And though he can feel the edge to it, feel the _danger_ inherent in having it there, it doesn't hurt. And it won't.

He's leaning more against the wall, though he doesn't know it yet, gradually relaxing under the slow, careful path of the blade. And it feels… it feels…

…so very, very good.

"Do you like that?" Hartley whispers. He's standing close, but the only point of contact between them right now is the knife.

" _Yes, sir_ ," Kevin manages. He knows his mind is starting to slip under; knows it does this when the other man pushes. But he wants it. He wants it badly. He already feels better than he has since…

The memory hits, and he gasps, a soft sound of pain slipping his lips. The instant it does, Hartley pushes him more firmly against the wall, free hand on his hip, and the other keeping that knife in place close to his shoulder.

"You know who you belong to," Hartley breathes in his ear. "You know who you have _always_ belonged to. Stop resisting it. Give in, Kevin… and it will all be OK."

For a moment, Kevin can't. He wants to, oh yes, but he can't. And then that blade slips over his shoulder, tracing down his spine, reminding him how vulnerable he is. How the other man could hurt him – or worse – if he wanted.

"Relax," Hartley whispers, lulling him deeper. Lulling him under. "I have you. I have you."

"Yes," Kevin whispers. "You do. You always have…"

He has. Since the day they met. But Kevin has never felt it more fully than he does now, breathless and hurting and needing, held – when all is said and done – by nothing more than Hartley's will.

"That's it," the other man purrs. "That's right. Tell me how this feels. How it _makes_ you feel."

"It… it makes me feel… _good_." A soft gasp, as the blade caresses his side, where he's marked by that pale white scar from the battle against Xanatos Tech, all those years ago. The mark that reminds him forever of the truth of who he is, of what he does. Of who he does it for. "Alive. Wanted. Powerful…"

He can hear the smile in the other man's voice at that. "Powerful? You have no power here, Kevin."

"I know. But… I feel it, because… this is what I want."

It is. Isn't it?

The other man presses in close, keeping the knife against his side, and whispers in his ear. "I don't think anyone could doubt that, if they knew. From the moment I first saw you, I knew what you needed. I knew what you could become. And not just because of your considerable skill with words, or with a blade. I knew you were meant for more than that. And I'm still being proven right."

"For you, sir," Kevin whispers. "All for you."

"That's right," Hartley replies. "That's right. All for me. I have you, Kevin. I have you, and so long as I do… everything will be just fine."

It's what Kevin needs to hear. That reassurance. That reminder of how good things can be, in Strexcorp's infinite light. In Hartley's infinite certainty.

And if he says it often enough… maybe one day he'll believe it.

***

Things are better after that. Not _good_ , but better. Life slowly returns to normal – or to whatever passes for normal in Desert Bluffs – and the months begin to slip ever onwards.

On the surface, everything is fine. Everything is as it should be. But underneath… underneath, Desert Bluffs is becoming less stable again. Kevin knows it, and not just because he finds himself being sent on missions by Mr Hartley much more often. He just… he just _knows_.

This isn't all. Though Kevin isn't told the details – and very much chooses not to ask – he's aware that something is going on within the Strexcorp Scientific Division. Whatever it is – and he's confident it's the same thing that Carlos was recruited for – Kevin can tell that it's something major. And that he doesn't want to know.

Sometimes it is better not to know. Stay quiet. Relax. Go to sleep.

Believe in a Smiling God.

And then, one morning in the spring – a year and a half after the hostile takeover attempt – Kevin arrives at the radio station to find Vanessa waiting for him. It's been a good couple of weeks since Kevin last saw the poor woman die, and – as always – she still seems completely fine. Completely normal. Not at all like someone who has died more times than Kevin can even remember.

"Hey, Vanessa," he says. "Is everything OK?"

There's concern in the young intern's eyes, and Kevin knows at once that something has happened. Or _is_ happening.

"We just got word from Strexcorp," Vanessa starts out. "There's a massive sandstorm incoming. They're saying it will hit within the next couple of hours."

Somewhat surprised by this, Kevin looks up at the sky, and over to the horizon, both of which are blue, and as clear as clear can be.

"I know, right?" Vanessa remarks, understanding what Kevin is thinking without him needing to say it, most likely because she herself is thinking the same thing. "Not a cloud to be seen."

"Exactly," Kevin agrees. "But if Strexcorp says there's a sandstorm coming… there's a sandstorm coming."

"I don't doubt it," Vanessa says. "Strexcorp wouldn't announce it unless they were sure."

Blind faith is a beautiful thing. Beautiful and terrifying and very helpful on days like this.

"You're right," Kevin replies. "And they most likely want me on air early, to announce it."

"Daniel said as much when the press release came in. I've been getting the studio all set up and ready for you."

"You're a gem. Come on. I want to talk to Ted before the broadcast."

***

They head inside together, and Kevin doesn't even have to go looking for Ted, because the weatherman finds him first.

"Kevin!" Ted exclaims, hurrying over. "You've heard the news?"

"Sure have," Kevin replies. "Vanessa just told me."

"Is it wrong that I'm a little excited to see it?" Ted asks.

"Of course not!" Kevin insists. "It's been a while since the last sandstorm, and Vanessa says it's a big one. Plus, you're a meteorologist, so this is kinda your thing!"

"It really is. And from all my initial readings, it looks like this sandstorm is an absolute _doozy!_ "

Kevin can't help a laugh at this. "Oh, Ted, your enthusiasm is so infectious. Tell me more! If you give me a few interesting facts, I can use them in the show."

Ted beams. "Well, sure! So… to start with, what _causes_ sandstorms? No one knows! Personally, I think it's God. The Smiling God, of course."

Kevin headtilts. "I thought it was a meteorological process whereby a strong wind front picks up large amounts of loose, dry sand from the surface of the desert and transports it suspended in the air."

This gets him an odd look from Ted. "That too," the weatherman concedes. "Weather forecasting isn't an exact science, after all. Sometimes it works better if you include an element of faith in the mix."

"Doesn't everything?" Vanessa remarks, a little wistfully. "I should go finish getting set up in the booth. I've been redecorating so I want to make sure it looks super-awesome by the time you arrive!"

"Oh, Vanessa, you're the best," Kevin tells her. "I won't be long."

And the intern practically skips off down the corridor.

"You OK?" Ted says to Kevin, when they're alone.

"Sure I am," Kevin insists. "Just making mental preparations for the big show."

Ted looks sideways at him. "It's more than that, though, isn't it?"

"Nope," Kevin answers, as brightly as he can. "Everything's good." And then he links arms with Ted. "Now, come along, you, tell me more about sandstorms…"

***

The broadcast turns into quite something. As if the sandstorm from out of nowhere wasn't news enough, it soon becomes clear that more is going on. The sandstorm seems like any other until the doppelgangers start appearing. To start off with, all Kevin knows about it is what comes in on the news updates during the show: word that, across town, copies of everyone are starting to appear.

That is not normal. Even for Desert Bluffs. That is not normal.

The truth of it is made far more real when – over in the control booth – Vanessa's doppelganger appears. Of course, in true Strexcorp fashion, the two women join forces to complete Vanessa's DIY project faster than she could have managed on her own.

Or, that's what Kevin tells everyone. It's easier than the alternative. Easier than trying to explain the hand-to-hand fight he has to watch the two identical women launch into, using anything they can get hold of to attack each other.

Tools. Office supplies. Furniture.

When it's over, one of the Vanessas is dead, and Kevin doesn't even know if it's the original or the copy.

This is not normal. This is…

…No, no, don't think it. Don't think it. Everything is fine. Everything is…

And then it happens. 

A point of bright white light appears on the back wall of the studio. It starts small, but quickly spreads out, forming a glowing, rippling vortex, like nothing Kevin has ever seen before.

He's captivated by it. Hypnotised by it. And, though he has no idea what caused it… he knows there's more to it than what he can see. Knows… somehow… that it leads somewhere.

And he needs to know.

He _has_ to know.

And so, with a few explanatory words to his listeners, Kevin pulls off his headset and walks over to the vortex. It's vibrant white – almost pink in places – and as he reaches out to touch it, he's surprised to find it feels cool, like water from a stream.

Taking a deep breath, Kevin walks forward into the light. Into the vortex. And beyond… beyond is something that defies explanation. Defies description. It is bright, it is radiant, it is…

…There's someone else here. Someone, amidst the light, off to the side. Someone…

…Kevin takes another step forward, stumbling just a little when he finds himself stepping out of the light and into…

He gasps. It's a radio studio. The layout is just like his own, but in reverse, as though he's stepped through a mirror into the reflection beyond. Except… there are other differences. There's no blood here. No broken glass. The walls are darker, and…

… _and_ …

The song. The song that's in his head, all the time. It's still there, but it's as though someone has turned the volume right down, leaving the song as little more than a distant echo. The shock of it is so much that Kevin has to catch himself on the edge of the broadcast table, feeling unlike he ever has in his life. Or… no, no, he's…

…No.

Where in the name of Merciless Azatothoth the Bloodthirsty _is_ he?

Instinct takes over, and he moves across to the microphone. It's clear from the equipment that a broadcast is live, and on some level Kevin is sure that whoever was here is now…

He looks back at the vortex. Just like in his own studio, it's glowing on the back wall, but here it's almost black, hinted with indigo.

And he understands. Whoever was here has gone through the vortex too. Maybe they're in his studio right now. Maybe somewhere else.

And then there's here. Where _is_ here? And who's listening to the broadcast going out from this very room?

Well. It can't hurt to say hello, right?

Kevin settles at the desk, and begins to speak. He keeps it brief, not wanting to give too much away, and it's all going fine until he notices the photograph.

It's odd. He has always kept a photograph of himself at his own desk. His mother always used to say that it was important to keep something around to remind you who you are, in case you ever forget, and it's advice that Kevin has followed ever since. From the look of it, whoever owns this desk might just be doing the same thing, because…

… _Oh_.

Now all Kevin can do is stare; stare in shock at the photo on the desk. It's a picture of a man… and the man is identical to Kevin. But, at the same time, he _isn't_ Kevin. His clothes are very similar in style to those that Kevin favours, but the colours are darker and more… nocturnal. And the man's eyes…

…his _eyes_ …

They're blue, but not the ethereal blue of the Hartley family. This man's eyes are a deeper blue, like a late-afternoon summer sky. They're the kind of eyes you could get lost in, and never want to escape from, and…

…Maybe he should focus.

Who is this man? Who is this man who looks identical to him – apart from the eyes – but _isn't_ him?

Somehow, Kevin manages not to let too much of his surprise register in his voice as he keeps talking, but he knows he won't be able to do it for long. Not when he's sitting staring at the photo of not-him.

So, given that it seems like a good idea, Kevin cues the weather and sits back, taking a few deep breaths and trying to focus.

Then he looks up. The vortex is flickering. He probably shouldn't linger here too long, even if the quiet is so very soothing, and so very…

A wave of dizziness hits as Kevin stands, and for a second, images flash behind his eyes: impossible images that, somehow, he's sure are memories. But they can't be. They can't be, because he doesn't remember them.

And yet…

He needs to get out of here. He doesn't understand how, or why, but something about this place is doing things to his mind. Is making him think that… that…

No. No, no, no.

Kevin walks over to the vortex. He pauses on the threshold, looking back at the desk. Looking back at the photo.

Looking back at those deep blue eyes.

And then he hurries forward into the light… and finds himself face-to-face with those same eyes. It's _him_ … but not him.

Another him. Another him, but not a twin, and not one of those strange sandstorm-doppelgangers.

Something more. An other. A… a _double_.

They both stand staring, each obviously stunned by what he's seeing. Kevin certainly is. This person, this man, is him, and isn't him. For a moment, neither of them seems able to move, too shocked by their meeting to know how to react.

And in the glittering unreality of the vortex, free of the song and the sunlight, some part of Kevin wants to reach out to this man. To warn him. To ask him for help. To hold on tight and plead to go back with him.

Kevin takes a deep breath, ready to speak. Ready to say something. Ready to meet his double. He reaches forward, desperate to grasp the man's hand, to keep him close, to tell him all the things that Kevin suddenly knows he needs to say, and that only this other could ever understand.

And that's when his double attacks. It happens quickly, a moment of stillness followed by a sudden lunge forward, though there's no finesse behind it, and Kevin is struck by the realisation that combat is not exactly high up this other man's usual skillset. Right now, he's obviously motivated by fear. Fear at what he's seeing. Fear, perhaps, at where he's been.

Kevin doesn't fight back. He resists, yes, because he doesn't want to die, but he doesn't fight back. For a moment that lasts a breath and an eternity, the two of them are locked together, and then some unseen force kicks in, pulling them apart.

Reality judders into focus, and Kevin stumbles forward into his own broadcast studio. Behind him, the vortex flickers back into nothing, leaving only flat, pale wall, streaked with its usual blood.

Did all of that just happen? Back in the cool air of home, that comforting song echoing in his head… Kevin is not sure how many of his recent memories are real. He recalls… silence. Quiet. A dark studio devoid of blood.

A man. A man with deep blue eyes.

Kevin looks at the broadcast table. Someone has cued the weather – and he has a sneaking suspicion he knows who – but it's rapidly coming to the end.

Somehow, Kevin manages to finish the show without giving too much away. He doesn't hide the fact that he seems to have met his own double, if only because he suspects his listeners know this already.

He doesn't mention the fight, though. It's probably better to stick with hugs and sparkles.

If he concentrates hard enough, he can almost believe it himself.

When the show is over, Kevin sits back, pulling off his headset again and taking a deep breath. He glances to the side, in time to see Vanessa peer over from where she's evidently been hiding, on the other side of the booth window.

"…What just happened?" the intern whispers, like she's just seen a ghost.

"I don't know," Kevin replies. "Did… did… was there..?"

He can't quite get the question out. Luckily, Vanessa clearly understands. "Yes," she says, quietly. "Someone came through. A man. He… Kevin, he looked _just_ like you. Though he sounded totally different."

"You heard him speak?"

"Everyone did. He broadcast for a few minutes. He seemed… scared, and disoriented, and…"

Her dark eyes are wide with alarm. Kevin walks over to her, taking hold of her hands through the shattered window. "Don't talk about it too openly," he says, tone soft. "People will know, so you don't have to lie, but… don't make a thing of it. And… I need you to pull the tapes of today's show. I need to hear it, Vanessa. I need to hear what he said."

She nods. "Of course. I'll bring them to your office."

"Thank you. Don't mention that part to anyone else unless you have to. And, Vanessa?"

"Yes, Kevin?"

"Be careful in the archives."

"I'm always careful."

***

Mercifully – for once – Vanessa makes it back from her errand unscathed, handing over the recording of the show from today. Kevin doesn't dare listen to it at the station, and instead waits until he can go home.

The sandstorm is long over and the sun is setting by the time he does, though the day's second sunrise – no doubt arranged by Strexcorp as a result of the sandstorm – is already well underway. Heading inside, Kevin finds his old tape deck and slips the cassette into it, hitting play.

He listens to the whole thing – mostly so he can claim it as a learning and development exercise if anyone finds out and questions it – and he's a little lost in his own voice when, all of a sudden, he hears the moment when his past self first sees that vortex.

What was it? What caused it? Was it connected to whatever caused all the doppelgangers, or was it some insane coincidence?

He hears himself get up and disappear through the vortex. All is silent for a moment, and then a new voice cuts the air; a different voice. A voice he's never heard before, yet at the same time seems so familiar.

_"Hello? Hello, Night Vale?"_

In stunned silence, Kevin sits and listens as the other man, the other radio broadcaster, tries to work out where he is. The other… no. No. Cecil. He says his name is Cecil.

 _Cecil_ is clearly distressed by what he's seeing. On most levels, Kevin can't work out why, though on some level, deep down… he understands. For a few minutes, Cecil talks about where he is and what it's like – and how scared by it he is – and then… then he spots the photograph.

And he's clearly scared some more. Scared by Kevin. Scared by his own double.

Before long, just like Kevin did, Cecil cues the weather and leaves. When he has, Kevin hits stop on the tape player, sitting back and staring at it, not sure what to say or think.

He has a double. Not a doppelganger, like all those that appeared during the sandstorm, but an actual, real-life double. And that… is that normal? Does it happen a lot? And what does it mean that his double was clearly terrified by everything? By Desert Bluffs, and… and by Kevin himself?

What does it mean that the other man attacked him in the vortex?

And… and…

…and nothing. Not the other thing.

Not those deep blue eyes that would understand, if only their owner would allow it.

But no. For whatever reason, the other man, the other _him_ … apparently had other ideas. Ideas that involved racing back off to where he came from.

Night Vale. He said it was Night Vale. Kevin has never been to the city before today, despite it being Desert Bluffs' closest neighbour, but he's always thought it would be interesting. And Vanessa talks about the place a lot, too, which only makes Kevin even more intrigued. Although now… now his feelings are less intrigue and more something else.

Something… darker.

These thoughts are not good. They are not good at all. They are unhelpful and unwelcome and certainly unfriendly.

But they're not unproductive. And Strexcorp _loves_ productivity.

And now, with the memory of the sandstorm still roaring in his ears, Kevin knows what he's going to do next.

***

The sun is rising high again – even though it's technically night – by the time Kevin makes it to the Strexcorp HQ tower. He heads up to the top floor, finding Andrew at his desk, looking more than a little tired.

"These double-sunrise days sure are great," the PA remarks, with a very forced smile, and Kevin decides it would be safer not to comment.

"I need to see Mr Hartley," he says, instead. "Is he available?"

"Go straight in," Andrew tells him. "He's been in there for hours, but I'm sure he'll see you."

This is said with something of a look, though Kevin opts not to comment on that, either. Instead, he heads up to the main door and pushes it open, not giving himself a chance to change his mind.

Derek Hartley is at his desk, which is covered in papers and files. He looks up as Kevin walks in, shutting the door behind him and pacing closer.

Kevin knows he's acting on emotion. Knows he's deeply, fundamentally rattled by the day's events. Knows he hasn't been right for months.

Knows there's no going back now.

"Kevin," Hartley says, looking up with a smile. "I didn't expect to see you today. Although…" and here he headtilts, "perhaps I shouldn't be surprised." He sits back. "I heard your broadcast earlier on. You certainly had quite an afternoon, didn't you?"

"Yes, sir," Kevin answers. "But then, everyone did."

"Very true. Doppelgangers all over town. It was most intriguing… and better than I could have hoped for."

This makes Kevin's mind stop dead, as he suddenly realises he shouldn't be surprised in the slightest. "…It was Strexcorp?"

Hartley smiles more. "Yes. Although that is _extremely_ classified information, which you must not share with anyone else. But… yes. It was us. It was all us. The sandstorm, the doppelgangers… all of it. Well. Almost all of it…"

Kevin takes a deep breath. "The vortex?"

"That particular incident was unplanned. The science teams don't know what caused it, though they're looking into a number of possibilities. They may want to talk to you about it at some point soon." A pause, careful, measured. "What was it like?"

"Which part?" Kevin asks, aware that too much emotion is spilling into his voice, but unable to stop it. "The part where a rupture in reality formed in my broadcast studio, or the part where my double – not my doppelganger – tried to kill me? And why _didn't_ I have a doppelganger?"

The sharpness in his tone is clear, but Hartley doesn't react to it. "That, we're not sure of yet. And as to the rest… I meant both parts. Although, I must say, I'm fascinated to hear more about this _double_ of yours."

"There isn't much to tell," Kevin replies. "We didn't exactly sit down for a lovely talk. He took one look at me and tried to kill me."

"That's twice now you've said he tried to kill you," Hartley points out, smoothly. "Though you said nothing of the sort when you were on air."

"Of course not. I didn't think that was the sort of information I should be giving away lightly."

Hartley smiles. "Perhaps you're right. Although… I can see how much you're affected by it. But you shouldn't be surprised, Kevin. He's one of _them_."

"He's Night Valean. He said as much when he was broadcasting from my studio."

"Indeed. And what did you say when you were broadcasting from his?"

"You haven't heard it?" Kevin asks.

"Not yet."

"I didn't say anything that would hurt Strexcorp," Kevin replies at once. "Or Desert Bluffs." A beat. "Or you. Most of it was surprise at where I found myself, and shock when I saw the photograph of… of _him_."

He doesn't want to elaborate on that part. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

"Kevin," Hartley says, softly. "Why did you come racing over here?"

This is a very good question. Kevin knows the answer, though he's not sure how easy it will be to admit.

"…Because a Night Valean tried to _kill_ me today. Because I have dedicated my life to making Strexcorp great. Because… because we need to expand. We need more. Strexcorp needs more."

"I see," Hartley replies. "And what has brought this on? The day's events? Or..?"

"The day's events were the final straw," Kevin tells him. "But… I've been thinking this for a while."

Ever since Carlos left. Ever since he needed something to fill the void in his life. Ever since… ever since he needed to lose himself in Strexcorp, so everything could be bright and happy again.

"I knew what I wanted us to do. I just didn't have a target in mind until today."

And now Hartley smiles. "You're so very attuned to the needs of the business," he says. "It's one of the things I've always liked about you. And, Kevin… you're not the only one thinking along these lines. Myself and the rest of the board have been making plans."

These words come as more of a shock than Kevin might have expected, if he'd had time to consider it beforehand. "You have?"

"We have. After the failed hostile takeover attempt by Nietzsche Futures, we acquired most of the intel they used to plan their move. And, from that, it was clear that they did what they did because they thought Strexcorp had weakened. They thought our growth had stagnated, because we'd had several years without major incident. They mistook our quietness for complacency. And though they were obviously wrong in thinking they could overpower _us_ , they were right about one thing. Strexcorp _has_ been quiet these last few years. We've been productive and efficient and unstoppable, but we haven't been anything _more_. And I always want more, Kevin. Is that not the very essence of business? Of capitalism? Is that not why we do what we do?"

"What are you planning, sir?" Kevin asks, very carefully. Not entirely sure if the implications thrill him or terrify him. Maybe both.

"We're experts at repelling hostile takeovers, Kevin," Hartley replies. "But I think it's time we launched one of our own. The sandstorm was a test-run for a potential takeover plan, but it looks like we're going to have to abandon it, now that your little vortex incident has given the game away…"

There's annoyance in his tone, though it's obviously not directed at Kevin. "The sandstorm was part of a takeover move?"

"Today was only a test, but yes. Unfortunately… now the people of Night Vale know that one of their number has a double in Desert Bluffs. I don't blame you for it – how were you to know? – but I can't risk moving forward with that plan now. Instead… I think we will have to take a more direct option. It will require a little time to prepare, but, if all goes according to plan, we should be ready to make a move on Night Vale by early autumn."

"Night Vale was always the target?"

Hartley nods. "Oh yes."

"Why? Because they're our closest neighbour?"

"Partly. But mostly… because Night Vale and Desert Bluffs have a rather _special_ relationship."

For a moment, Kevin isn't sure what the other man means by this, and then the thought that's been clamouring for attention at the back of his mind rushes suddenly to the fore.

"…I'm not the only one with a double, am I?"

Now Hartley's smile is as bright as the sun. "No, Kevin. You are not the only one with a double. On the contrary… nigh-on _everybody_ in Desert Bluffs has one over there. It's fascinating, really. A whole town of people, with doubles living right next door to them. There are one or two exceptions to the rule – aren't there always? – but for the most part, everyone here has a Night Valean alter."

"And the sandstorm…"

"…was supposed to capitalise on that. But no matter. We will make our move without it. We will take Night Vale, and we will use it to form something _more_. To form…"

"…the Greater Desert Bluffs Metropolitan Area?" Kevin suggests, the words coming to him all at once.

"You see, that's what I like about you, Kevin," Hartley says, beaming. "You _understand_. And you're going to be an important part of it all. Not at first, oh no, but when the time comes…" He headtilts. "Will that give you the catharsis you need? Does that knowledge make today a little easier to bear?"

And Kevin nods. "Yes. Oh yes, sir, it does."


	17. Ponikija

**Ponikija**

_Purple_

***

The move on Night Vale takes place in early autumn.

Kevin doesn't realise how close it is to happening until the day in mid-September when Mr Hartley calls him in.

"I sent the first wave this morning," Hartley starts out. "Helicopters to begin with, then acquisition teams to back them up. First reports are that we already own seven percent of the town, and I expect that to double by tomorrow evening."

"That was fast," Kevin replies, surprised. "There was no fighting?"

"None of note," Hartley tells him, easily. "They've obviously never experienced a hostile takeover before. Certainly not within living memory, at least. There was only minimal resistance involved. For the most part… we just _took over_."

He looks delighted, and it's hard not to be caught up in that.

"What happens next?" Kevin asks. "When are you sending me out there?"

He's desperate to go. Desperate to get over to the other town. Desperate to…

…something.

Hartley smiles. "Patience. Not yet. We're still in Phase One. You, my dear boy, are part of Phase Two."

"So when does Phase Two start?"

"That remains to be seen. Most likely in the spring. I want to take this slowly. The stakes are… higher than even I first realised."

Any annoyance at the idea of having to wait for months vanishes at this last statement, and Kevin keeps his tone careful as he asks, "Higher than you realised? What do you mean by that, sir?"

Hartley's smile brightens. "I think perhaps I should show you, Kevin. You of all people will understand. And, given that you're part of Phase Two, it's important that you understand a little of what Phase _Three_ will entail…"

He gestures to the door. "Come with me."

Kevin nods and follows at once, growing more and more intrigued with every step. Hartley leads the way out into the room beyond, where Andrew immediately looks up at the pair of them.

"We're going down to the secure level," Hartley tells his PA. "Call down and warn them we're coming. I need access to the central chamber."

Andrew nods. "Of course, sir."

Kevin follows Mr Hartley into the elevator. The other man doesn't press any of the numbered buttons, however, and instead simply lays his hand over the Strexcorp emblem at the very top of the panel. The emblem turns red at once, and the elevator car begins to descend rapidly – faster than it usually does – and for longer than it would take to reach even the sub-basement parking lot.

Hartley looks sideways at Kevin, smile still in place. "I think you'll enjoy this," he says.

 _He_ obviously is.

As the doors sweep open, Kevin is greeted by the sight of a room he's never seen before, in all his years coming to this building. It's a wide, imposing hallway, carpeted in deep, oppressive orange, and lined with six enforcers – three on either side – all of whom snap to attention as they see their boss approach.

"Where are we?" Kevin asks.

"Deep beneath the HQ tower," Hartley replies. "This is the most secure place in the building. Arguably it's the most secure place in all of Desert Bluffs. Very few people know of its existence, and even fewer know what's down here right now…"

They reach the end of the hallway, stepping through a set of double-doors and into a vast, circular room that appears to be filled with water.

"Oh, oh, oh, is this the infamous shark pit?" Kevin can't help asking.

"This is just a secondary one," Hartley tells him. "I need the main one for dealing with my enemies. But if my enemies made it _this_ far, it would just be asking for trouble. Only a fool combines their most secure vault with their primary deathtraps. That being said, there _are_ still sharks in here, so stick to the walkway and don't touch the water."

Kevin doesn't need telling twice. There's a single walkway leading out across the room, which looks like it can be retracted when not in use. They head across it – Kevin being careful to heed the safety advice – and soon they're on the far side, at another set of double doors.

Hartley pauses. "What I'm about to show you is highly classified. But I know I can trust you with it…"

He puts both hands on the doors – one on either side – and pushes them open. Beyond is another circular room, smaller than the last, with a dark-tiled floor and carved stone walls. Its precise purpose remains unclear, but Kevin is confident said purpose is extra-planar in some way. He can just _feel_ it.

And the room itself contains only one thing: another door. But this door isn't set into the wall, oh no: this door stands in the dead-centre of the room, unsupported by any other structure.

A door. An old oak door, with slightly burnished brass fittings, and a rounded top.

Kevin has never seen one quite like it before and, though at first sight it seems innocuous, he can tell it's anything but – both by the efforts taken to secure it and, again, because he can just feel it.

"Do you know what this is, Kevin?" Hartley asks, pacing closer to the door in the centre of the room.

"It looks like a door… but I'm guessing from all the necessary theatrics that it's rather more than that?"

Hartley nods. "Indeed. Doors like this are extremely rare on this plane of existence. I've been searching for another one for… well. For long enough. I was only able to keep hold of this one by securing it in this chamber. Previous attempts to move it were not successful. To put it mildly."

"Where does it lead?" Kevin asks.

The other man doesn't answer straight away, and instead walks right up to the door, laying a hand on it. "…It leads to many places," he says, at last. "Exactly where it leads at any given time depends on multiple factors. The place where it has appeared. The person who opens it. The key that unlocks it…"

He trails off, and Kevin opts to let the silence run on for a moment, wondering what the other man is thinking. Eventually, curiosity gets the better of him, and he says, "Earlier, sir, you told me that the takeover of Night Vale had to be done carefully because the stakes are higher then you realised. Is it something to do with this door? Or… with another one like it?"

Hartley turns to look at him, smiling again. "I knew you'd catch on. And you're quite right. It seems as though doors like this one have a habit of appearing in Night Vale rather more frequently than they do anywhere else. There have been at least a couple of sightings this year alone, and that means there will most likely be more. And when another of these doors appears, Kevin… I need to find it. I need to claim it." A pause. A very heavy pause. "I need to _open it_."

"Why?" Kevin asks. "What's on the other side?"

"There is a desert," Hartley starts out. "This desert is not of this world. It is not _in_ this world. It is _other_ worldly. But… for reasons we do not fully understand… it maintains a deep connection to Night Vale. Were we to locate one of these doors in Night Vale, I am confident it would lead straight to that desert."

"I see. And what would we find there?"

Hartley smiles again, but it's a different smile this time. It's the smile of a man who is only two steps away from getting everything he wants. "The Smiling God," he says, with a strange hint of reverence in his tone. "Not as a cross-planar manifestation, an image, an echo, but as it truly is. And with the right door, in the right place, we could let the Smiling God cross over. Let it through. Let it _in_."

Kevin shivers, the words delicious and beautiful and terrifying all at once. "That's your ultimate goal here?" he asks, softly.

"Yes," Hartley answers, with an edge to his voice that suggests he's sharing a deep and personal secret. "Yes. It is what I have wanted all along. What I have been striving for. To bring the Smiling God to this plane, and in its radiant light… to make Desert Bluffs, make _Strexcorp_ , its most perfect self. Its most _powerful_ self."

And that… well. That would be wonderful. Right?

"And all you need is one of these doors?" Kevin now asks.

"One of these doors, in the right place, opened by the right person. Using this."

Hartley slips a hand into his pocket and pulls out a key. It's obviously old, made of burnished brass – much like the metalwork on the door – with a long barrel and a looped end.

"You'll have seen keys like this before," he goes on. "We use them in the two extraplanar prisons and in…" and here he pauses, just barely, a strange flicker in his eyes, "…the main re-education centre. It turns out that some of them can also open doors like this one. And this key, _my_ key, is powerful enough to open a door to that otherworld desert. To the Smiling God. Find that door, Kevin… and we win. Everything. Forever."

"And you believe that door is in Night Vale?"

"Either it is, or it will be. Which is why Strexcorp needs to be in Night Vale. Not just to expand our power, but to find that door. And we will. Precisely when is impossible to say, but it will happen. And when it does…"

"…everything changes," Kevin says, softly. "Forever."

Hartley smiles again. "Yes. Oh yes. _Forever_."

***

For the first couple of months, progress in Night Vale is slow. Strexcorp continues gradually taking over, buying out – or driving out – businesses across the town. Mr Hartley and the rest of the Management Board all seem perfectly happy with how things are progressing, although Kevin can't help feeling that it's too slow. That it's far too slow.

But he trusts in Strexcorp. In Derek Hartley. In the plan.

Early in the new year, when Kevin is over at the Hartley estate, the first big development of what must surely be Phase Two finally comes up.

"…which is when Dad said he wants _me_ to go out to Night Vale!" Lauren enthuses, midway through dinner. "Officially I'm going to be the new programme director at their radio station – controlling the message, and all that! – but unofficially I'm going to be keeping a _very_ close eye on things. And on certain people…"

"Now, now, Lauren," her father chides, "we agreed not to discuss that part just yet."

Lauren clearly knows this, and clearly enjoys the air of mystery provoked by her having brought it up anyway. On the opposite side of the table, Naomi rolls her eyes and scowls.

"Oh, you, you're just jealous because Dad won't let _you_ go," Lauren points out.

"Why not?" Kevin asks.

"Naomi is staying here in the Bluffs," Hartley explains, in his diplomatic father-of-daughters voice. "It is important that someone stays in place to maintain operations, and I want that to be Naomi. She is, after all, highly competent, and someone I trust with the responsibility."

The praise does not seem to lift Naomi's mood one bit. "I still don't see why it has to be me," she says. "Zara and Tamsen Belmonte are younger than I am. It should be them. I have seniority."

"Zara and Tamsen Belmonte have a different task to deal with," Hartley replies, without elaborating further. "And besides, I want things left in the hands of a member of _this_ family. It isn't a sleight against your abilities, Naomi. It is an honour."

Naomi scowls some more, and doesn't deign to reply to this.

"What about you, sir?" Kevin asks, both to take the pressure off Naomi, and because he's genuinely intrigued.

Hartley smiles, sitting back a little, wineglass in hand. "For the moment, myself and the rest of the Management Board will be remaining here in Desert Bluffs. However… the day will come when we too must go out to Night Vale, to oversee operations and move things forward. When that day comes, I want everything else in place."

"I still don't see why it has to be me who stays behind," Naomi says. "I'd be much more useful to you there."

"You are most useful to me here, Naomi," her father replies, firmly. "And that's final."

"It's all right, Nay," Darla insists, in her rarely-used diplomatic tone. "If nothing else, it means you get to stay at home with me."

Naomi sighs. "I know. And you know I'm glad about that. Although… if I was going to Night Vale you could always come with _me_."

Darla laughs. "Can you imagine me in Night Vale? I don't think they'd enjoy my particular talents."

"Sweetie, I love you, but there are people _here_ who don't enjoy your particular talents," Naomi points out, which makes Darla faux-scowl and bat at her.

"And," Naomi goes on, turning back to her father, "just why _are_ we drawing this whole thing in Night Vale out so long? Surely it should be over already?"

Kevin looks at Naomi in surprise. Does she not know the reasoning behind the slow progress? Has her father not told her about the old oak doors? Kevin glances at Hartley, whose expression is textbook-level, and decides maybe he shouldn't say anything.

But this is not normal. This is not right. Has Mr Hartley cut his own daughter out of the loop?

"Because we're doing it _properly_ ," Hartley replies. "Haste is not essential. Success is."

"And what a success it will be," Lauren enthuses. "Oh, I can't wait to get out there. I'm going to impress you, Dad. You'll see."

"I expect nothing less, my dear," Hartley tells her. "I expect nothing less."

***

Six weeks later, Kevin gets a summons to come and see Derek Hartley at late notice, though – most unusually – he's called not to the man's office, but back to the estate, one evening.

This alone is noteworthy. Whilst it's fair to say that Hartley never truly stops working, he tends to conduct most business from the HQ tower, and not from home. When Kevin arrives, one of the enforcers waves him through to Hartley's study, where the man himself is seated with his back to his desk, staring out of the window and into the night. He turns as Kevin walks in, regarding his fixer with a careful expression.

"Ah, Kevin. Good. We have much to discuss. I should start with the news you've been waiting for: that the time has come for me to send you out to Night Vale."

The words make Kevin's heart leap with emotion. This is what he wants. To get out there. To get to Night Vale. To…

…something.

"I'm glad to hear it, sir," he replies. "What do you need me to do?"

"I'm sending you with a contingent of middle-managers. They'll be doing the bulk of the official work, although you'll be in charge. On paper, your role will be to co-ordinate between them and Lauren's team at the radio station to ensure we are on-message and delivering the right information to the people of Night Vale."

"I look forward to working with Lauren again," Kevin says. "And with Daniel too! I've missed him since you sent him out there."

"No doubt the feeling is mutual," Hartley replies, with a knowing little smile.

"No doubt," Kevin echoes. "But… from what you said, I assume there's more to my remit than just co-ordination?"

Hartley's smile broadens. "Indeed. I need a talented radio host in place for… when the inevitable happens."

Kevin feels a strange weight settle over him, though he fights to keep his expression level. "Sir?"

Hartley rises from his chair, pacing closer. "We have had some difficulties with your double. Cecil Palmer has been allowed to remain as host at Night Vale Radio, but we can only tolerate his behaviour for so long. He has been inserting subversive material into his broadcasts. On occasion, he has openly expressed views that, were he in Desert Bluffs, would be classed as _dissident_. And you know what happens to dissidents, Kevin."

" _I_ happen to them," Kevin answers, softly, and then hopes that the other man will take his change of tone as a sign of confidence, rather than anything else.

"Precisely. Ordinarily, I would ask you to deal with him at once, however…" Hartley trails off, opening one of the dossiers on his desk and handing a sheet of paper to Kevin. It's headed with the Strexcorp logo and the words 'Top Secret' and then, beneath that, is the heading 'Night Vale: Persons of Interest'.

And beneath _that_ are five names. Three of them, Kevin doesn't recognise – and yet somehow they all seem familiar – and the fourth he's sure is the man who emailed the station on the day of the infamous sandstorm, almost a year ago now.

And the _fifth_ … is Cecil Palmer. His double.

Kevin looks up. "Persons of interest?" he says, still trying to keep his voice and his expression as level as possible. "Why these five?"

Derek Hartley headtilts. "We don't know yet," he answers, sure and certain and obviously, obviously lying. Though Kevin doesn't dare call him out on it. The other man must have his reasons.

Right?

"I take it you want them alive?" Kevin asks, instead.

"We do," Hartley says, nodding. "Which is why we haven't moved against your troublesome double just yet. We need to do something about him, however… which is where you come in. I think that a visit from you will throw him off balance. Perhaps make him re-think his current course of action. If nothing else, it should give us more time to search for another of those doors."

"I see," Kevin replies. "So you want me there as a distraction?"

"I want you there to co-ordinate my team of middle-managers and to work with Lauren," Hartley re-iterates. "But if you could distract your double in the process, it would help matters immensely."

Kevin nods. "Then consider it done. When do I leave?"

"At the end of the week. That should give you time to prepare. You may be gone for a couple of months at least."

"I'll make arrangements. I trust there are suitable accommodations available over there?"

"Absolutely. We have commandeered an entire suburban district, and renovated it accordingly. It'll feel just like home. And you'll stay in regular contact with me, of course."

"Of course."

There's a pause, and then Hartley rests his fingertips on the second dossier that's on his desk. "There is one other thing," he goes on. "I'm going to be honest with you: I've known about this for some time, but I didn't mention it to you because I didn't want _you_ distracted. But now you're going out to Night Vale, you need to know. I'd rather you were prepared."

The words catch Kevin off-guard, and he feels the tension rise in his chest. "What is it, sir?" he asks.

Hartley pauses again, and then slides the dossier across the desk, towards Kevin. "These are surveillance photographs from Night Vale, taken in the few months since our initial incursion. The latest of them was taken only yesterday."

On some level, some deep level, Kevin knows what he's going to find in that dossier long before he opens it. He knows, and the thought makes his whole body ache with repressed emotion, even though he isn't consciously aware of the realisation until he flips the cover open and stares at the first photograph inside.

It's a slightly grainy shot of a suburban street. There's no blood to be seen, though other than that the architecture is very similar to Desert Bluffs. But Kevin has no time to muse on this, because the moment he looks at that photograph, all he sees is one thing.

All he sees is the man pictured walking calmly down the street in question. The man who is, without a doubt, Carlos.

Trying to remember to breathe, Kevin flips through the first few photos, until the pain becomes too much and he has to put the dossier down.

"You see why I kept this from you?" Hartley asks, in that strangely understanding tone of his.

Kevin finds he can't quite give voice to an answer, so he nods instead.

"We don't know how long he's been there," Hartley goes on. "We do, however, know that he was there six months ago when Strexcorp first moved into Night Vale."

"You've known all this time?" Kevin says, very softly.

"I have," Hartley answers. "Though I stand by my decision not to tell you. I know how hurt you were when he left."

Kevin looks down. On one level he completely understands why the other man hasn't told him. He's almost grateful for it. But, at the same time…

"Do we know what he's doing there?"

"Leading the local scientific team," Hartley replies. Which… is obviously true, and obviously not the whole truth. Though Kevin can't quite bring himself to push the matter.

After all, the chances are high that Carlos is with someone else. And if that's the case… Kevin would rather not know.

"I see," he says, instead. "But he's not a person of interest?"

"Not to us, no. Though I realise he will be to you. And I'm confident you will stay professional where he is concerned."

"Of course," Kevin answers, wishing it was as simple as that.

"I can always count on you. Now… join me for a drink, and then you can go start preparing for your trip. We'll talk again before you leave, naturally, but right now we should toast to your eventual success. You're going to change everything for Strexcorp, Kevin. I can feel it."

***

"How long will you be gone?"

Kevin looks up. He's sitting at the table in his sister's kitchen, mug of coffee in hand, trying to tell her his news from the night before.

"I don't know. Mr Hartley said it would likely be a couple of months at least, and most of the people who go stay out there, in the district we've commandeered. I know it's only a few miles up the road, but… it's more efficient this way."

Kirsten sighs, finishing up at the worktop she's been tidying, and settling opposite him with a coffee of her own.

"You're sure this is a good idea?"

"I trust in the company. In Strexcorp. In the Management Board."

In Derek Hartley. Though Kirsten often gets a weird look in her eyes when Kevin mentions him, so he avoids the name-drop this time.

Kirsten sighs again, leaning over and putting a hand over her brother's. "I know you do. But…"

"But what, Kirsten?"

His sister sighs a third time. "Nothing. I'm just worried about you. You and Gillian are all the family I have left, Kevin. And you mean the world to me."

"You mean the world to me too, Kirsten. Both of you. I'm doing this _for_ you."

"You're doing this for Strexcorp, Kevin."

"It's the same thing."

Kirsten looks pained. Kevin is about to say something that he hopes will come across as reassuring – without betraying all of his own feelings on the matter – when the kitchen door opens and Gillian comes pacing in.

Gillian – Kirsten's only daughter, and thereby Kevin's only niece – has recently turned thirteen. She walks in with a laptop under her arm, takes a seat at the far end of the table, opens the laptop and starts typing away almost immediately, all without a word.

"Say hello to your uncle, Gillian," Kirsten says, pointedly.

"Hello, Uncle Kevin," Gillian replies, at once. She looks up as she does, giving him a smile, but then immediately goes back to what she's doing.

"And what are you up to?" Kevin asks.

"Homework," Gillian answers, this time without looking up.

"Good for you! Studiousness and hard work are very important."

"Exactly. And the wi-fi reception is better down here. Don't mind me."

There's silence for a moment, as if Kirsten is trying to decide on a response to this, but then she just shakes her head and returns her attention to her brother.

"You're sure this is the right thing to do?" she asks. It's obvious she's worried – and of course it's good to be worried about – but at the same time, it can't change anything.

He has to go out there. He wants to go out there. He _needs_ to go out there.

"Of course I'm sure," Kevin insists, gripping Kirsten's hand. "I go, I do my job, Strexcorp becomes infinitely greater, and then I come back."

"And if that was the whole of it, I'd probably agree with you," Kirsten says. "But it isn't. You told me yourself. Carlos is there. And so is your double."

 _And that's why I need to get out there_ , Kevin thinks. _I have unfinished business with both of them_.

"Yes," he replies, tone faux-level. "That's right. But Carlos is the one who left me. It was his choice. I have nothing to prove, to him or to anyone."

"Kevin," Kirsten says, quietly, "you haven't dated since the pair of you broke up. It's been two and a half years!"

"I've been busy!"

"You're always busy. This is more than that. Kevin, dearest brother… you're still hung up on him."

For a second, just a second, something like anger flares in Kevin's chest. It's not an emotion he usually indulges, and certainly never where his family is concerned. Perhaps a flicker of it is betrayed in his eyes, because Kirsten immediately falls silent, looking worried.

"That's why I need to go," Kevin says, finally, when the moment has passed. "To finish this. To set myself free."

"All right," Kirsten replies. "All right. Just… promise me you'll be careful?"

"Of course. I'm always careful. And… there's something I need you to do for me whilst I'm gone."

"What is it?"

He taps the envelope that's been lying on the table at his side, the one that Kirsten seems to have deliberately avoided asking about.

"This is a collection of legal paperwork. I'm going to sign over ownership of my house to you," Kevin explains, which makes Kirsten's eyes go wide. "That way, you can look after it whilst I'm gone. And if anything happens to me…"

"Nothing had better happen to you!" Kirsten interjects. "Smiling God, Kevin, you and Gill are all I've got. Since Mom died… and all that stuff with Gill's dad… I can't go through it again. I can't, Kevin. I…"

Kevin rises from his seat at once, moving over and dropping onto one knee in front of his sister, gripping her hands between his. "It's going to be fine," he insists. "Everything is going to be fine."

"You're talking as though you're going out there to _die_ ," Kirsten retorts.

"Nothing of the sort," Kevin tells her. "I'm just being careful. And if I know I don't have to worry about you, and about home, then I can concentrate on what I've got to do in Night Vale."

"And what _have_ you got to do in Night Vale?" There's a suspicious tone in Kirsten's voice as she speaks, and Kevin finds himself wondering – not for the first time – how much his sister knows about the things he really does. They don't talk about it, but Kirsten is no fool.

And, truth be told, Kevin is not exactly subtle.

"Co-ordinate a team of middle-managers and liaise with Lauren Mallard with regards to our media message in the town," he answers.

"I see." Kirsten does not sound convinced. "And why is Lauren still using her married name?"

"To annoy her father," Kevin replies, easily. "She tends to double-barrel it here, but out in Night Vale she's dropped the 'Hartley' completely, so the people there don't realise who she is."

Kirsten rolls her eyes. "I bet she's just loving that."

"I would imagine so," Kevin answers. He misses Lauren. Things between them have always been a little weird – and he could never relax around her the way he does around Naomi – but still. He misses her, and he's looking forward to seeing her again when he gets to Night Vale.

"Look," Kirsten says, taking a deep breath. "You just be careful, OK? Be careful and come home."

Kevin smiles. "I will. I promise."

***

It's early on Friday morning when Kevin is finally ready to go. He's said a last goodbye to his sister and niece the night before, and to Naomi and Darla.

"You watch yourself out there," Naomi tells him. "And if… if you need to talk to me, about anything, you call, OK?"

There's an odd edge to her tone, a worry, an awareness, but she doesn't elaborate.

"I will," Kevin answers. "You take care of Desert Bluffs whilst I'm gone. And you," he adds, turning to Darla, "you take care of Naomi."

"Always," Darla promises, a strange look in her eyes. "We'll see you very soon."

The drive out to Night Vale is quiet, the road empty and clear so early in the day. Overhead, the sunrise lights what few clouds there are, painting the sky a deep, vibrant red, hinted with orange.

It's beautiful. Kevin hums to himself as he drives, following the road, and thinking about what – literally and metaphorically – lies ahead.

In his mind, barely perceived – yet always there – the soft, ceaseless angel-song blends back and back, and back, like waves receding from a calm shore, fading into the recesses of his mind; not gone – never gone – but quieter than it has ever been.

Save, of course, for the one other time he's been to Night Vale.

Kevin becomes aware of it, after a while, though he doesn't know why. He doesn't even know where that odd song is coming from… though he's sure he _should_ know… and all he's certain of is that it comes from somewhere in Desert Bluffs.

Calling him back. Calling him home. Reminding him.

But as it recedes, like those imagined waves on that imagined shore, flickers of things are revealed where once there was only still water. Flickers of things that cannot be real.

Flickers of things than can only be real.

The shock hits like a sudden tidal surge, and Kevin pulls the car over, clambering out and staggering a few paces into the open desert, feeling as though he's just broken the surface of water deeper than time itself. He knows he's felt this way before; knows that, the day of the sandstorm, the day of the vortex – one year ago tomorrow – he was close to reaching this point. Close but… not enough.

Because he went back. Back to the song. Back to the song that soothes over everything.

The song he can't explain. The song that still echoes in the depths of his mind, a soft remembrance.

For a moment, he feels them again: the flickers of memory that can't be real. That _have_ to be real. Memories that he needs _not_ to be real.

Kevin shuts his eyes, and – in that moment – he sees. He _remembers_.

A bloody plaza, bathed in impossible red light.

Fear, twisting at his heart.

Callum Outteridge, bright, beautiful, pleading.

Serenity. Certainty.

Finality.

And then… a dark room. Coldness. Clarity.

Bright blue eyes that seemed to cut through his soul.

A whispered promise.

_"Everything will be fine in the end, Kevin."_

Kevin's eyes open on that blood-red sunrise, heart pounding in his chest, unsure – now – of what's real and what isn't. What happened and what didn't.

Where that distant song comes from, and what it means.

He takes a deep breath. He has to keep going. He has to keep going, for Strexcorp, for Derek Hartley. For the plan.

No. No. For _himself_. He has to find Carlos, and work out what went wrong. He has to find Cecil, and show the man who he really is.

Kevin looks at the rising sun, feeling its warmth rush over him, rush into him, full of promise. He can do this. He can go on. He is a son of Desert Bluffs, and he is not afraid.

Besides. It's just a few months in Night Vale.

It isn't as though the whole world is going to change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...And there you have it.
> 
> I still can't quite believe I've finished this one. It's come to define the last year for me - a year that has been so extraordinarily important, a year that (blips aside) I am still very much hashtagging as #BestYearEver. And writing this was a key part of that. It was, you may have guessed, quite a labour of love for me, and an infinite joy (angst aside) and if I've managed to share that with you out there then mission accomplished. ;-)
> 
> If you've read this but haven't yet read the main [Chiralityverse](http://archiveofourown.org/series/146883) series, now would be the time to go check that out! This prequel ends on a very deliberate cliffhanger, after all. And for those of you who _have_ already read it, I can assure you that I will now be going back to work on Part Three. I have plenty of surprises still in store for that one!
> 
> Peace out, dear reader. And thank you.


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